Classic Poem

This clarion sounded its final war-warning
On stormed Santiago's grim day of renown,
When thunders of sea-battle roared through the morning
And flame-shrouded ships of Cervera went down.

Some artisan wrought it in old Barcelona,
Whose dark bastions frown on the Mediterrane,
Beyond where the rampires of gray Tarragona
Remember Hamilcar and Caesar, in Spain.

Perchance its ta-ra-ra has marshaled yare heroes
In days of the Moor and of proud Ferdinand —
Its blast may have sounded when plumed caballeros
Of Philip ensanguined the sea and the land.

Perchance Boabdil, on the walls of Granada
Defied the far flourish and parl of its note;
Sidonia, belike, of the storm-tossed Armada,
Heard fanfares of doom from its clangorous throat.

Lepanto's flotilla whose gonfalons flouted
Encountering crescents by Moslem upborne,
And squadrons of Alva, in Netherlands routed,
I trow may have harked yon historial horn.

No more shall it summon hidalgo or vassal,
To rouse up from slumber and arm for the fray,
Nor city beleaguered nor turreted castle
Shall fear or rejoice at its challenging bray.

No more by clear Ebro or swift Guadalquivir,
On coast Caribbean or Philippine shore,
Its signals of wrath shall this bugle deliver,
Shall madden the charging battalion no more!

Nay, mute let it hang as a trophy and token
Of conflicts forgotten and war-banners furled,
A sign of the truce that shall never be broken,
When love, like a baldric, encircles the world.