nd his reins left dangling from the bit, along the white highway,
For his mind was set to speed his horse, to speed and not to stay.
He rode upon a grizzled roan, and with the wind he raced,
And the breezes rustled round him like a tempest in the waste.
In the Plaza of Molina at last he made his stand,
And in a voice of thunder he uttered his command:

To arms, to arms, my captains!
Sound, clarions; trumpets, blow;
And let the thundering kettle-drum
Give challenge to the foe.

"Now leave your feasts and banquetings and gird you in your steel!
And leave the couches of delight, where slumber's charm you feel;
Your country calls for succor, all must the word obey,
For the freedom of your fathers is in your hands to-day.
Ah, sore may be the struggle, and vast may be the cost;
But yet no tie of love must keep you now, or all is lost.
In breasts where honor dwells there is no room in times like these
To dally at a lady's side, kneel at a lady's knees.

To arms, to arms, my captains!
Sound, clarions; trumpets, blow;
And let the thundering kettle-drum
Give challenge to the foe.

"Yes, in the hour of peril away with pleasure's thrall!
Let honor take the lance and steed to meet our country's call.
For those who craven in the fight refuse to meet the foe
Shall sink beneath the feet of all struck by a bitterer blow;
In moments when fair honor's crown is offered to the brave
And dangers yawn around our State, deep as the deadly grave,
'Tis right strong arms and sturdy hearts should take the sword of might,
And eagerly for Fatherland descend into the fight.
To arms, to arms, my captains!
Sound, clarions; trumpets, blow;
And let the thundering kettle-drum
Give challenge to the foe.

"Then lay aside the silken robes, the glittering brocade;
Be all in vest of leather and twisted steel arrayed;
On each left arm be hung the shield, safe guardian of the breast,
And take the crooked scimitar and put the lance in rest,
And face the fortune of the day, for it is vain to fly,
And the coward and the braggart now alone are doomed to die.
And let each manly bosom show, in the impending fray,
A valor such as Mars himself in fury might display.
To arms, to arms, my captains!
Sound, clarions; trumpets, blow;
And let the thundering kettle-drum
Give challenge to the foe.