’Twas dark; from every mountain head
The sunny smile of heaven had fled,
And evening, over hill and dale
Dropt, with the dew, her shadowy veil;
In fabled Teio’s darkening tide
Was quenched the golden ray;
Silent, the silent stream beside,
Three gallant people’s hope and pride,
Three gallant armies lay.
France, every nation’s foe, is there,
And Albion’s sons her red cross bear,
With Spain’s young Liberty to share
The patriot array,
Which, spurning the oppressor’s chain,
Springs arm’d, from every hill and plain
From ocean to the eastern main--
From Seville to Biscaye.
All, from the dawn till even-tide,
The fortune of the field had tried
In loose but bloody fray;
And now with thoughts of dubious fate
Feverish and weary, they await
A fiercer, bloodier day.