Genius of Liberty, inspire my song! For thou alone canst consecrate the strife, That bids surcease the despot sway of Wrong, And Man prefer thy dignity to Life Without thee,--War proclaiming “to the knife” ’Gainst Tyrants. May the strain I feebly raise, Like the Caÿstrian bird’s with death-notes rife, Tune every human organ to thy praise, And curb War’s eagles, save to blast Oppression’s gaze! VI. On Mont’ Orgullo Mota’s fortress-crown Seems like defiant Pride from high to smile, Poised on her lofty cone, while far adown Blue Ocean bathes her feet and guards the while; And southward Santa Clara’s rocky isle Stands like a Cyclop to defend the wall. War’s stern munitions heaped in many a pile The ramparts strew, prepared the foe to gall-- Yet deeply now ’tis sworn, shall San Sebastian fall! VII. The Chofre hills with giant carronades Are horror-crested. Far on either side Swift Uruméa, while the twilight fades, Are armed the enormous batteries deep and wide. And opens now like thunder to deride Yon beacon light the loud artillery’s roar, With fire and smoke that seem to Hell allied, Makes wall and castle reel and tremble sore, And shakes the affrighted wave that foams along the shore! VIII. Dire straits of War! The crystal stream of Life Is now cut off from San Sebastian’s ground; Where water flowed, an aliment of strife The withering Genius of Destruction found. Oh, fatal skill! Sulphureous heaps abound Within the tube that from Ernani’s hills Brought Life, yet soon will scatter Death around. Though lymph, Pyrene, all thy crags distil, For San Sebastian vain is every mountain rill. IX. But, hark the voice of cannon from within! ’Tis raised in joy, a Royal salvo peals. What new discovery marks that potent din, Which speaks in thunder that the assailant feels-- Bolts with each flash? For joy the Norman kneels. Where Mota’s rock above the wave doth frown, A living fount its bubbling stream reveals, More prized than diámonds on Regal crown. The stream is hoarded well--its flow supplies the town. X. A moment pause the batteries now, while flag Of truce and summons of surrender due Approach the wall, nor long before it lag, For soon in Rey a noble foeman knew The English arms as he in England too. No paltering there! Redoubled every post; More resolute his wing’d defiance flew, In fiery tempest ’gainst the leaguering host; And scorning even to read the summons was his boast. XI.