From the Basque.

On the broad Basque mountains arose a cry,1
Shrilly and wildly it rang to the sky.2
Etcheco Jauna stood calm at his door,3
Who goes ?” he shouted amid the roar,4
As his sheep dogs’ baying was echoed far5
Over the heights of Altabiscar.6
Through Ibeneta’s winding cleft7
The clamour sounded from right to left.8
’Tis the noise of a host that comes from far !9
Our mountains give back the shout of war !10
Etcheco Jauna heard with a frown ;11
He took his bow and his quiver down.12
They come, they come !  How the sunbeams dance13
On flutter of flag and flashing of lance ;14
Rank upon rank, like billows piled.15
Count our foemen ; count well, my child.”16
He numbered them slowly to full a score17
Twenty ! aye, twenty, and hundreds more !”18
Stay not to number them, on to the van,19
From the broad Basque mountains come every
man !
Tear up the rocks ’mid the boulders grey,21
Thunder them down on the winding way,22
Thunder them down on each serried rank,23
Thunder them down upon either flank.24
What would they here from the busy North ?25
Why must they send their squadrons forth ?26
God made our hills for our use alone ;27
God gave our hills, and we guard our own.28
Crash down the rocks on the path they tread,29
Give the invaders a welcome dread.30
Fly all who may from such blood-stained tomb ;31
On the wind floats Carloman’s raven plume ;32
Still lies thy nephew, oh, great Roland,33
With his dauntiess heart and his terrible hand !34
Now, now, ye Basques! let your arrows fly,35
Thick as the hail ’neath the wintry sky.36
For they fly, they fly !  What now remains37
Of the banners that danced across the plains ?38
Of the plumps of spear-heads that gleam no more,39
For their sheen is lost in the stains of gore ?40
Count them, my child, for the day is done,41
Count them, backward, from twenty to one.42
What ! are none left to number, my son ?43
Not one, not one, for the fight is o’er ;44
Etcheco Jauna, stride home once more ;45
Pass, with thy dog, where thy wife awaits46
With thy child in her arms beside thy gates ;47
Cleanse horn and arrows, lie down in peace48
For a while the clamour of war will cease,49
For the vultures bark to the tainted breeze,50
And swoop to their feast in the Pyrenees.51