THE PEASANT leaves his plough afield, | |
| The reaper leaves his hook, | |
| And from his hand the shepherd-boy | |
| Lets fall the pastoral crook. | |
| |
| The young set up a shout of joy, | 5 |
| The old forget their years, | |
| The feeble man grows stout of heart, | |
| No more the craven fears. | |
| |
| All rush to Bernard’s standard, | |
| And on liberty they call; | 10 |
| They cannot brook to wear the yoke, | |
| When threatened by the Gaul. | |
| |
| “Free were we born,” ’t is thus they cry, | |
| “And willingly pay we | |
| The duty that we owe our king, | 15 |
| By the divine decree. | |
| |
| “But God forbid that we obey | |
| The laws of foreign knaves, | |
| Tarnish the glory of our sires, | |
| And make our children slaves. | 20 |
| |
| “Our hearts have not so craven grown, | |
| So bloodless all our veins, | |
| So vigorless our brawny arms, | |
| As to submit to chains. | |
| |
| “Has the audacious Frank, forsooth, | 25 |
| Subdued these seas and lands? | |
| Shall he a bloodless victory have? | |
| No, not while we have hands. | |
| |
| “He shall learn that the gallant Leonese | |
| Can bravely fight and fall, | 30 |
| But that they know not how to yield; | |
| They are Castilians all. | |
| |
| “Was it for this the Roman power | |
| Of old was made to yield | |
| Unto Numantia’s valiant hosts | 35 |
| On many a bloody field? | |
| |
| “Shall the bold lions that have bathed | |
| Their paws in Libyan gore, | |
| Crouch basely to a feebler foe, | |
| And dare the strife no more? | 40 |
| |
| “Let the false king sell town and tower, | |
| But not his vassals free; | |
| For to subdue the free-born soul | |
| No royal power hath he!” | |
| |
