DURING A THUNDER-STORM .

The storm-cloud grows deeper above,
Araucans! the tempest is ripe in the sky;
Our forefathers come from their Islands of Bliss,
They come to the war of the winds.

The Souls of the Strangers are there,
In their garments of darkness they ride through the heaven;
Yon cloud that rolls luridly over the hill
Is red with their weapons of fire.

Hark! hark! in the howl of the wind
The shout of the battle, the clang of their drums;
The horsemen are met, and the shock of the fight
Is the blast that disbranches the wood.

Behold from the clouds of their power
The lightning, — the lightning is lanced at our sires!
And the thunder that shakes the broad pavement of Heaven!
And the darkness that quenches the day!

Ye Souls of our Fathers, be brave!
Ye shrunk not before the invaders on earth,
Ye trembled not then at their weapons of fire;
Brave Spirits, ye tremble not now!

We gaze on your warfare in hope,
We send up our shouts to encourage your arms!
Lift the lance of your vengeance, O Fathers, with force,
For the wrongs of your country strike home.

Remember the land was your own
When the Sons of Destruction came over the seas,
That the old fell asleep in the fulness of days,
And their children wept over their graves;

Till the Strangers came into the land
With tongues of deceit and with weapons of fire:
Then the strength of the people in youth was cut off,
And the father wept over his son.

It thickens — the tumult of fight!
Louder and louder the blast of the battle is heard! —
Remember the wrongs that your country endures!
Remember the fields of your fame!

Joy! joy! for the Strangers recoil, —
They give way, — they retreat, — they are routed, — they fly;
Pursue them! pursue them! remember your wrongs!
Let your lances be drunk with their wounds.

The Souls of your wives shall rejoice
As they welcome you back to your Islands of Bliss;
And the breeze that refreshes the toil-throbbing brow
Waft thither the song of your praise.