Swiss Air.--"Ranz Des Vaches."

But wake, the trumpet's blast again, And rouse the ranks of warrior-men! Oh War, when Truth thy arm employs, And Freedom's spirit guides the laboring storm, 'Tis then thy vengeance takes a hallowed form, And like Heaven's lightning sacredly destroys. Nor, Music, thro' thy breathing sphere, Lives there a sound more grateful to the ear Of Him who made all harmony, Than the blest sound of fetters breaking, And the first hymn that man awaking From Slavery's slumber breathes to Liberty.

SPANISH CHORUS.

Hark! from Spain, indignant Spain, Burst the bold, enthusiast strain, Like morning's music on the air; And seems in every note to swear By Saragossa's ruined streets, By brave Gerona's deathful story, That, while one Spaniard's life-blood beats, That blood shall stain the conqueror's glory.