A Short Sonnet on Lepanto by Fernando de Herrera
Sonnet on the Battle of Lepanto
by Fernando de Herrera (translated)
Deep, you roar with a thunderous call,
From your dark depths, you raise your fearful face,
And in your field, where blood does leave its trace,
Behold the flames in which your enemies fall.
Amidst this circle, here the clash does sprawl,
Both Christian and Saracen interlace;
With smoke and fire, thunder in its place,
The trembling heathen flees, defeated, small.
With murmurs low, the victory sings high,
A triumph greater than the skies have known,
And in this feat, unsure, and strangely grand,
Say who alone did earn eternal fame?
The youth of Austria and Spain's brave hand,
Who made your name a sacred, storied throne.
Here is the original.
Por la victoria de Lepanto
Hondo Ponto, que bramas atronado
con tumulto y terror, del turbio seno
saca el rostro de torpe miedo lleno,
mira tu campo arder ensangrentado,
y junto en este cerco y encontrado
todo el cristiano esfuerzo y sarraceno,
y cubierto de humo y fuego y trueno,
huir temblando el impío quebrantado.
Con profundo murmullo la victoria
mayor celebra, que jamás vio el cielo
y más dudosa y singular hazaña,
y di que sólo mereció la gloria,
que tanto nombre da a tu sacro suelo,
el joven de Austria y el valor de España.
Now a longer work by the same author within a decade of the victory of Lepanto.
Fernando de Herrera (Chat GPT)
Let us sing to the Lord, who on the plain
Defeated the fierce Thracian upon the open sea.
You, God of battles, are our strength,
Our salvation and our glory.
You shattered the might and the hardened brow
Of Pharaoh, savage warrior;
His chosen princes sank
Into the sea's abyss,
And like stones they descended into its depths,
Until your wrath devoured them,
As fire consumes dry straw.
The proud tyrant, trusting
In the great display of his fleet,
Which he thought would enslave us
And force our hands to serve his unjust state,
Struck down the tallest cedars from the heights,
And the tree that dared rise highest,
Drinking foreign waters, daring to tread
Upon the lands we defend.
The weak trembled,
Confused by his impious rage;
He lifted his head against you, O Lord,
With arrogant face and heart,
And arms stretched in defiance.
His furious neck moved with might,
His heart burned with rage
Against the two Hesperias bathed by the sea,
Because they trusted in you
And bore the arms of your faith and love.
That insolent, disdainful man said:
“Do these lands not yet know my wrath
And the illustrious deeds of my fathers?
Did their courage avail them
Against me in Hungary,
Or in the wars of Dalmatia and Rhodes?
Who could rescue them?
Who could save Austria or the Germans
From my hands?
Will their God now, by chance,
Save them from my conquering hand?
“Rome, afraid and humbled,
Turns her hymns to tears;
She and her sorrowful sons await my wrath
As they fall in defeat.
France lies broken by discord,
And in Spain threatens dreadful death,
He who honors the crescent moon’s banner.
And even those fierce nations
Are too busy with their own wars—
And if not, who could still oppose me?”
“The mighty nations bow to me,
They yield their necks to my yoke,
They offer me their hands to save themselves,
Their valor is vain.
Their light fades and falls,
Their warriors march toward death,
Their virgins are in chains,
Their glory now belongs to my empire.
From the Nile to the Euphrates and cold Danube,
Everything under the high sun is mine.”
But you, Lord, do not suffer
That anyone should usurp your glory,
Boasting in strength and wrath.
Look upon this proud man,
Who defiles your altar with his victories.
Do not allow him to oppress your people,
Or feed wild beasts with their flesh,
Or let hatred revel in their spilled blood.
For already, he mocks and says:
“Where is their God?
Who hides Him now?”
For the sake of your holy name,
For the just vengeance owed to your people,
For the cries of the afflicted,
Stretch forth your mighty arm
Against him, who now scorns being a man.
Let the honors you guard
Prevail;
And strike the enemy, three and four times with punishment;
Make the sword of his offense
The blade that ends his life.
The proud one raised his head,
Gathering his counsel to plot our destruction.
Those who joined him said:
“Come, let us make the sea
A great lake of their blood.
Let us wipe them from among the nations,
And erase the name of their Christ.
Let us divide their spoils
And feast our eyes on their death.”
They came from Asia and dreadful Egypt,
Arabs and nimble Africans,
And Greeks unwillingly joined with them—
Proud of bearing their necks high.
With great power and endless numbers
They dared promise with their hands
To destroy our cities,
To kill our youth with strong blades,
To seize our children and maidens,
And to tarnish their glory and purity.
They occupied the depths of the sea,
While the earth fell silent and afraid.
Our brave men paused,
Hesitated in silence—
Until the Lord, choosing a new battle
Against the Saracen fire,
Raised up the noble young Austrian,
With the glorious, warlike Spaniard.
For God will not permit His beloved Zion
To remain forever captive in Babylon.
Like a lion prepared for the hunt,
They stood fearless before the enemy,
For you, Lord, were their shield.
With hearts bared,
Clothed in love and faith,
And inspired by divine breath,
They trusted in your might.
You prepared their hands for war,
Strengthened their arms like iron bows,
And wielded the sword
With your own right hand.
The mighty were thrown into confusion,
The strong surrendered trembling.
You, O God, delivered the unjust
Like chaff before the wind,
Like dust on the wheel.
A thousand fled from one.
As fire burns forests,
And spreads through their dense peaks,
So in your fury and storm you pursued them,
Turning their faces into shame.
You shattered the cruel dragon,
Cutting the fearful wings from his body
And breaking his terrible arms.
Groaning deeply,
He retreats to his cave,
Hissing with venomous serpents,
His innards filled with cowardly fear,
Trembling before the lion
That came forth from Spain,
Roaring so mightily,
He was left stunned and disoriented.
Today, the proud man’s eyes are humbled,
His greatness laid low.
And you alone, Lord, are exalted.
For your day has come,
O Lord of armed hosts,
Over high and haughty heads,
Over lofty cedars and rising mountains,
Over towers and walls,
And over the ships of Tyre
That once burdened your people.
Babylon and Egypt, terrified,
Shall fear the fire and violent spear,
And smoke will rise to heaven.
Lacking comfort,
With darkened faces and troubled solitude,
Your enemies shall weep their disgrace.
But you, Greece—
Once trusted and esteemed by Egypt—
Now lost in sorrow,
Why do you not fear God,
Nor seek your deliverance?
Why, ungrateful, did you dress your daughters
For impious adulterers,
Those who sought to profane your fruits?
Why, with dry eyes,
Did you follow their hateful paths,
Their accursed lives and evil fate?
God will avenge His wrath in your death.
His sharp sword is coming to your neck
With mighty hand.
Who will stop it, poor one?
And you, strength of the sea—
You, lofty Tyre,
Once glorious in your ships,
Who terrified the ends of the earth—
When you waged war,
You covered the world in fear.
But how have you fallen, proud and fierce?
Who imagined such harm to your head?
God did, to turn your glory into weeping,
To cast down your nobles and mighty ones,
And cause your ruin through so many deaths.
Weep, O ships of the sea,
For your vain pride and arrogance are destroyed.
Who will pity you now?
You, who followed the moon—
You, adulterous Asia, drowned in vice—
Who will even show a little sorrow for you?
Who will pray on your behalf?
Your arrogance and wrath offend God.
Your old sins and shifting loyalties
Cry out for vengeance against you.
Those who saw your broken strength
And your ships abandoned by the sea,
The waves and calm disturbed,
Witnessing your dark demise,
Shall say, amazed by your ruin:
“Who could do this to such terror?”
The Lord—who showed His mighty hand
For the faith of His Christian prince,
And for the holy name of His glory—
Has granted this victory to Spain.
Blessed be your greatness, O Lord!
For after all the suffering and pain,
After our sins and their punishment,
You broke the pride of the enemy.
Let your chosen adore you,
Let all beneath the vast heavens
Proclaim your name, O our God, our comfort!
And let the rebellious neck
Perish in the flames of your wrath.
__
To the Lord, for the Victory at Lepanto
After Fernando de Herrera, in iambic pentameter, Lope de Vega–style
Sing to the Lord, who rides upon the wave,
Who crushed the fierce and boastful Thracian’s pride.
The God of battles comes, the strong to save,
Our hope, our sword, our banner and our guide.
He split the sea with fury and with flame,
And cast the haughty chariots down in wrath;
Like stones they sank, and perished in His name—
His storm pursued them down the ocean path.
The tyrant came with fleets of polished gold,
His iron sails defied the Christian sky.
He claimed the earth, and dared to be so bold
To say that Christ and all His flock would die.
He struck the cedars from the mountain’s crest,
He scorched the olive groves with fire and spite,
He mocked the cross upon the faithful breast,
And trampled all the altars in the night.
He said: “What land has yet escaped my hand?
Did not my fathers break the western kings?
Hungary, Rhodes, and Dalmacia’s strand—
What power could resist our crescent wings?
Will Austria save? Will Rome her hymns repeat?
Let Spain dare strike, and I will strike her down.
Their God is deaf, their saints lie at my feet,
And all their priesthood bows before my crown.”
But You, O Lord, whose name no foe defiles,
Arose with fire against the dragon’s path.
You tore the curtain from the hidden miles
And showed Your sword, and clothed Your saints in wrath.
You called the lion roaring from the West,
You stirred the blood of kings to holy war;
You placed Your strength within the faithful breast,
And lit their arms with light unknown before.
From Asia came a flood of sword and flame,
With Egypt's spears and Greece's treacherous hand.
They marched beneath the moon, without a name,
To burn the churches and divide the land.
They vowed to break the hearts of Christian men,
To bind the youth and steal the virgin's song,
To fill the seas with blood, again, again—
And dared to curse the Lord with voices strong.
But You, O Christ, who reigns from Heaven's hill,
Did not forsake the tears Your people shed.
You taught their hands for war, their hearts to will,
You clothed them in the armor angels bled.
You bent their arms like bows of tempered steel,
You shaped their blades with fury from the skies,
And gave their war a strength no foe could feel—
Until the proud were dust before their eyes.
As fire devours the forest thick with pine,
So fell the ranks of crescent-bearing ships.
You made the sea a chalice for Your wine,
And broke the boasting from their blasphemous lips.
The dragon, once exalted in the wave,
Now crawls to shadows, hissing in defeat.
He fears the lion You from Spain once gave,
And hides his ruined crown beneath Your feet.
O day of light! O trumpet of the Lord!
How great the fall of those who mocked Your name!
The fleets of Tyre have met the judgment sword,
And all their glory crumbles into shame.
Let Greece lament, who made her soul a bride
To foreign gods and wandered far from Thee.
The blade shall fall; no fortress can abide
When You have loosed Your wrath upon the sea.
Where now is Tyre, once mistress of the tide?
Her harbors burn, her timber floats as ash.
She sought the moon, and in her pride she died;
Her sails are torn, her banners turned to trash.
Let all the nations see her ruin spread,
And say, “The Lord is just in all He does.
The blood of saints shall not be left as dead,
The God of battles conquers as He must.”
Now raise the song, O Spain, whom God has crowned!
You bore the cross, and by His hand you won.
Let hymns of triumph through your halls resound—
For He has fought, and not one foe can run.
Ring out, O bells! Let incense touch the skies!
Let saints rejoice and martyrs greet this hour!
The Lord has heard His people’s bitter cries,
And shown the nations His eternal power.
__
For the Victory at Lepanto
Fernando de Herrera
(Translated by ChatGPT, 2025)
Let us sing to the Lord, who in the plain
Of the broad sea struck down the Thracian's might;
You, God of battles, strong and ever right,
Our glory and our gain.
You shattered Pharaoh’s power, fierce in pride,
And broke his brazen brow upon the tide;
His chosen lords sank down into the wave,
Like stones they fell into the ocean grave,
And your wrath swallowed them, as fire the dry—
Consumed like chaff beneath the angry sky.
The haughty tyrant, confident and proud
In all the fearsome strength his fleet displayed,
Who bound our necks and roused with iron hand
Our forced, unjust command,
With heavy arms felled cedars from the cloud
And dared, from heights by foreign waters stayed,
To trample what your covenant defends
And trespass where your holy border ends.
He drank strange streams, and proudly he defied
The host of God whom Heaven stood beside.
The weak grew pale before his cruel flame,
Confounded by his wild, impious wrath;
He raised his brow and with audacious breath
Declared your name to death.
His armed hands, in pride, to heaven he came,
And wrapped his heart in fury on his path
Against the twin Hesperias bathed in sea,
Who in your strength withstand him valiantly,
Clad in your faith, in holy arms arrayed—
By your great love and sacred power stayed.
He cried: “Do not these lands yet know my rage?
Have they not heard my fathers’ glories told?
Did not their hearts and trembling hosts collapse
Before our thundering claps
In Hungary’s dread wars from age to age,
And Rhodes and Dalmatia’s sieges bold?
Who could deliver them? Did Austria stand?
Could German strength withstand my sovereign hand?
Will now their God protect them from my sword,
Or shield them from the wrath of their true lord?
“Behold, their Rome—humiliated, afraid—
Turns all her hymns to weeping, lost and bowed.
She and her children groan beneath my ire,
Their hopes consumed by fire.
France by her own discord lies decayed;
And Spain shall soon be wrapped in fatal shroud—
For she who dares resist the moon's proud sign
Shall feel my wrath, and all her hopes resign.
And even were they free, who dares withstand
The terror and the fury of my hand?
“All nations at my feet bend low and yield,
Their necks bowed down beneath my iron yoke.
They grasp my hand for mercy in despair—
Their strength is but thin air.
Their suns go dark; their champions lose the field,
Their maids in chains, their honor all is broke.
Their glory I have seized to crown my state—
From Nile to cold Danube I hold their fate.
All that the burning sun beholds is mine,
And none shall from my will or wrath decline.”
But You, O Lord, who will not bear your name
Be stolen by proud strength in vain deceit,
Who sees the heart in fury lifted high—
Look now, and hear our cry.
This beast, who smears your altars with his shame,
Let not your people crumble at his feet.
Let beasts not gorge upon our fallen dead
Nor drink our blood, by cruel hatred shed.
He mocks: “Where is their God? Why does He hide?”—
Let your hand break his blasphemy and pride.
For your name’s glory, pure and ever bright,
For vengeance just and mercy to your own,
For the sighs of the suffering and betrayed,
Let your strong arm be laid
Against the one who loathes the human right.
Let not your jealous honors be o’erthrown.
Strike thrice and more; let fury guide the blow,
Let vengeance in your flaming justice grow.
And may the wrong against your name and throne
Be turned to iron wrath against his own.
He raised his head—this mighty foe of yours—
And gathered counsel, drawing wicked men,
Plotting the ruin of your faithful ones
With their infernal tongues:
“Come, let us make the sea a lake of gore,
Let none of them be seen or rise again.
Let Christ’s own name be swept from earth and sky;
And let our joy be sated as they die.
Let all their spoils be cast to us as meat,
And let our vengeance in their deaths be sweet.”
From Asia, Egypt, Africa they came—
The Arabs wild, the nimble Moors in flight,
And Greeks, allied in chaos and disgrace,
With pride upon their face;
In countless ranks they bore the sword and flame,
To end our days and plunge us into night.
They swore to kill our youth with iron blade,
To seize our sons and make our daughters maid,
To stain our honor, quench our radiant name—
And clothe in ruin what your grace had claimed.
They filled the sea's deep gulfs with dread and fear;
The earth fell silent in a trembling hush.
Our warriors, brave, were still and held their breath,
Awaiting word or death—
Until, against the Saracens so near,
You chose new war, and made your judgment rush.
Then rose the noble Austrian prince, arrayed
With Spain, the valiant lion unafraid;
For God no more could bear His Zion dear
To live enslaved in Babel’s yoke severe.
Like lions stalking prey with steadfast eye,
They feared no ambush, for in You they rest;
Their hearts unbound by dread, but clothed in love,
With courage from above.
To war You shaped their hands, their arms made high,
Like bows of steel drawn from the warrior’s chest.
And You, O Lord, with sword of flaming light,
Stood by their side and turned their wrath to right,
And smote the hosts with fierce celestial flame—
Till all the world beheld Your holy name.
The mighty fled, the strong in fear gave way,
And You, O Lord, delivered them to shame.
Like chaff before the wind You made them fall,
And scattered them through all.
As fire consumes the woods upon the spray,
Your wrath pursued and set their pride to flame.
You broke the cruel dragon, clipped his wings,
And silenced all his loud and boastful things.
He slinks to lair with venomed serpents curled,
In fear of Spain’s great lion, shaken, hurled.
That proud man’s eyes have now been lowered down;
His greatness lies in dust before Your hand.
Only You, O Lord, were lifted high—
Your day has drawn so nigh.
Upon the lofty neck, the cedar crown,
Upon the mountain peaks and towered land,
On ships of Tyre, their pride and strong deceit—
You poured Your fire and cast them at Your feet.
The mighty fall, their thrones now ash and gore;
They stand against Your glory nevermore.
Babylon and Egypt quake with dread;
The smoke ascends, the spears are raised to flame.
And in the ash of all their fallen pride
Your foes shall wail and hide.
But you, O Greece, to Egypt’s hope now wed,
False bride—why share in her adulterous shame?
Why clothe your daughters for such filthy bands?
Why follow in their godless, bloodstained hands?
God’s sword is drawn; your neck shall feel the blade—
And none shall stay His hand, nor bring Him aid.
And you, O Tyre, once queen upon the seas,
Who filled the world with dread and vast despair—
Where now your pride, your boast, your roaring fleet?
Now bow beneath defeat.
Your cedars lost, your harbors hushed to peace,
The winds no longer kiss your banners there.
Your glory turned to ashes, death, and cries—
By God’s own hand your princes fall and die.
So perish they who trust in fleeting might,
And not in Him who holds eternal right.
Weep, ships of Tarshish! For your strength is gone,
Your pride is shattered on the stormy shore.
Who now shall pity you, adulterous East,
So drowned in sin’s dark feast?
Who shall lament your fall, when from God’s throne
You turned and roused His wrath forevermore?
Your ancient crimes and ever-changing ways
Have called His justice to consume your days.
No mercy for your arrogance remains—
Your ruin sings the glory of His reign.
And all shall say, who see your scattered host,
Your broken pines upon the raging tide,
Your fleets destroyed, your mighty powers quelled:
"Behold what wrath has felled!"
The Lord alone has triumphed, Lord of hosts,
For whom the prince of Christ did brave and bide.
And to His glory, and His sacred name,
To Spain He gave this victory and fame.
So let the earth adore His justice done—
Our God, our strength, the Everlasting One!
__
Hymn for the Deliverance of Christendom
(In the manner of Fernando de Herrera)
Sing to the Lord, O tongues of earth and flame!
Lift high the trumpet in the house of war;
For He has drawn His sword against the proud,
And torn the thundercloud
Of heathen rage, that once defied His name.
He rode upon the whirlwind from afar,
And with His breath He shattered every shield
And broke the spear upon the crimson field.
The Lord of Hosts arose—His foes are dust;
He scatters kings who do not learn to trust.
O You who smote the dragon in the sea,
And cast the stars to guide the march of night,
You who in Sinai clothed the law with fire,
And ruled the stormy lyre,
Now bare Your arm for Zion’s liberty.
The temples groan, the altars lose their light—
False gods are praised beneath the vaulted sky,
While Your beloved children, bound, still cry.
Awake, O Lord, avenge their sacred blood;
Be wrathful as the roaring of the flood!
The nations gathered: dark their counsel stood,
And wicked was their covenant and crown.
They cast their dice for Rome and called it vain;
They swore to break the chain
Of Christ's domain, and trample on the good.
With crescent raised, they sought to strike us down—
The cross they mocked, the priest they bound in chains,
And scattered ash upon the holy plains.
They dared to say: “Where is their Lord of hosts?
Who shall arise to guard their ruined coasts?”
But God, whose throne the stormy cherubim
Uphold with wings of flame and eyes of fear,
Beheld their blasphemy, and in His wrath
He cleft a smoking path—
He spoke, and all their sun grew cold and dim.
He called His chosen from the West to steer
Against the ships that dared defile the deep;
And roused from battle's dust the lion's leap.
He stirred the blood of kings, the faith of knights,
And clothed them in the mail of sacred rites.
O valiant Spain, your trumpet shook the shore!
You rose as morning rises on the field,
With Austria at your side and sword in hand,
To guard the Christian land.
The stars of Greece, long dark, were lit once more;
The hostile tide began at last to yield.
The saints in heaven beheld and struck with flame—
And every breath they lent was in God’s name.
No strength was yours but what His hand supplied;
Your blade was His, your fury sanctified.
Then fell the towers of pride, the ivory thrones,
The bannered masts sank down like ancient trees;
The sea, once full of blasphemy and blood,
Bowed to the holy flood
Of God’s great justice, breaking bones and stones.
He turned the tempest loose upon their seas;
Their mighty lords were driven like the foam,
And found no refuge, shipwrecked far from home.
Like Pharaoh’s host, they perished in their sin—
And not one knew the ark he perished in.
Now sing, O earth! Let golden trumpets ring!
Let Cyprus, Venice, Crete and Rome proclaim:
The Lord has not forgotten David’s seed,
Nor left His Church to bleed.
He raises up the lowly and the king,
And humbles those who mock His dreadful name.
Let incense rise from altars purified,
Let virgins sing where martyrs once have died;
For He has scattered those who hated peace,
And made the sword of Christendom increase.
But you, false lands, that bowed to foreign gods,
That sold your sons for gold and kissed the foe—
What joy remains for you in shameful night,
Now banished from the light?
The Lord shall tread you with His thunder-rods;
No banner shall you lift, no harvest grow.
Your daughters mourn in sackcloth for your shame,
Your princes fall, and none dare speak their name.
Let all the earth now learn from Tyre’s disgrace:
The Lord is God. None stand before His face.
__
To the Lord, for the Victory at Lepanto
(After Fernando de Herrera, in the manner of Lope de Vega)
Sing to the Lord! He crushed the raging seas
And tamed the roaring Thracian’s cruel might.
He breaks the tyrant’s sword with holy ease,
And casts the stars of battle into night.
O God of hosts, our shield and hope, arise!
Your breath can drown the mightiest in the deep.
Like stones they fell beneath Your angry skies,
And in Your wrath they found eternal sleep.
He, proud and cloaked in ships and shining steel,
With iron pride enslaved our Christian bands.
He thought no faith could match his heart or heel,
He scorched the trees, and stole the sacred lands.
He rose against the heavens, clothed in flame,
And thundered threats against Your chosen shore.
He scorned Your temple, cursed Your holy name,
And vowed to trample Christ forevermore.
“O fools,” he said, “what help can heaven send?
Did not my sires lay mighty cities low?
Hungary, Rhodes, Dalmatia — all did bend.
Who now shall stand where all those kingdoms go?
Will Spain defend? Will trembling Rome withstand?
Will Austria hide behind her bleeding cross?
I am the storm. The world is in my hand.
Their God will fail. Their armies count as loss.”
Thus raged the boast — but Heaven saw the sin,
And heard the cries of saints in iron chains.
The Lord arose, and thundered from within
The hearts of kings, and shook the stormy plains.
He called the lion from Iberian dust,
He raised the sword in Austria’s noble hand.
By faith they moved — not pride, not mortal trust —
But hope in Him who formed the sea and land.
The fleets of Asia darkened all the main;
Their oars beat loud, their banners caught the sky.
Egypt and Greece, in treachery and chain,
Dared lift their horns, and dream they would not die.
They vowed to steal our children, bind our wives,
To shame our priests, and set our homes aflame.
They laughed to taste the blood of Christian lives,
And mocked the power of the Savior’s name.
But lo — the Lord of battles turned His eye,
And clothed His champions with the light of war.
No fear they knew, who dared with Him to die,
Their courage came from Christ — and not before.
He stretched their arms like bows of tempered steel,
He placed His breath within their faithful breast;
He touched their swords, and made the godless reel,
And cast the crescent down beneath the West.
As fire devours the forest in its pride,
So did the Lord consume the gathered host.
The sea was red. The waves grew dark and wide.
The foe who mocked now weeps and counts the cost.
The dragon's wings lie broken in the dust,
His hissing fills the shadows of his cave.
He trembles now, who once betrayed our trust—
And fears the lion that Iberia gave.
O day of God! O sword of holy flame!
How high Your justice rose above the tide.
The ships of Tyre have sunk beneath their shame,
And towers of Egypt now in smoke abide.
False Greece, who played the harlot at the gate,
Who dressed her daughters for a stranger’s sin—
You scorned your Lord. Now feel His hand of fate;
His sword is drawn. No mercy dwells therein.
Where now is Tyre, the mistress of the wave?
Who feared her once? Who mourns her fall today?
She sought the moon and served the crescent grave—
But now her sails are ash, her pride is clay.
Let all who see her ruins cry, “Beware!
The Lord is just. No arrogance shall last.
Who dares defy the King of Heaven’s air
Shall find his glory buried with the past.”
So sing, O Spain, whose arm the Lord has blessed!
The battle turned, and you were not alone.
Your sword was light, your shield was not your breast,
But He who guards the altar and the throne.
Let incense rise from every hallowed place,
Let bells be rung, let choirs fill the air.
For God has looked upon His people’s face,
And crowned the cross with victory and prayer.
After Fernando de Herrera, in iambic pentameter, Lope de Vega–style
Sing to the Lord, who rides upon the wave,
Who crushed the fierce and boastful Thracian’s pride.
The God of battles comes, the strong to save,
Our hope, our sword, our banner and our guide.
He split the sea with fury and with flame,
And cast the haughty chariots down in wrath;
Like stones they sank, and perished in His name—
His storm pursued them down the ocean path.
The tyrant came with fleets of polished gold,
His iron sails defied the Christian sky.
He claimed the earth, and dared to be so bold
To say that Christ and all His flock would die.
He struck the cedars from the mountain’s crest,
He scorched the olive groves with fire and spite,
He mocked the cross upon the faithful breast,
And trampled all the altars in the night.
He said: “What land has yet escaped my hand?
Did not my fathers break the western kings?
Hungary, Rhodes, and Dalmacia’s strand—
What power could resist our crescent wings?
Will Austria save? Will Rome her hymns repeat?
Let Spain dare strike, and I will strike her down.
Their God is deaf, their saints lie at my feet,
And all their priesthood bows before my crown.”
But You, O Lord, whose name no foe defiles,
Arose with fire against the dragon’s path.
You tore the curtain from the hidden miles
And showed Your sword, and clothed Your saints in wrath.
You called the lion roaring from the West,
You stirred the blood of kings to holy war;
You placed Your strength within the faithful breast,
And lit their arms with light unknown before.
From Asia came a flood of sword and flame,
With Egypt's spears and Greece's treacherous hand.
They marched beneath the moon, without a name,
To burn the churches and divide the land.
They vowed to break the hearts of Christian men,
To bind the youth and steal the virgin's song,
To fill the seas with blood, again, again—
And dared to curse the Lord with voices strong.
But You, O Christ, who reigns from Heaven's hill,
Did not forsake the tears Your people shed.
You taught their hands for war, their hearts to will,
You clothed them in the armor angels bled.
You bent their arms like bows of tempered steel,
You shaped their blades with fury from the skies,
And gave their war a strength no foe could feel—
Until the proud were dust before their eyes.
As fire devours the forest thick with pine,
So fell the ranks of crescent-bearing ships.
You made the sea a chalice for Your wine,
And broke the boasting from their blasphemous lips.
The dragon, once exalted in the wave,
Now crawls to shadows, hissing in defeat.
He fears the lion You from Spain once gave,
And hides his ruined crown beneath Your feet.
O day of light! O trumpet of the Lord!
How great the fall of those who mocked Your name!
The fleets of Tyre have met the judgment sword,
And all their glory crumbles into shame.
Let Greece lament, who made her soul a bride
To foreign gods and wandered far from Thee.
The blade shall fall; no fortress can abide
When You have loosed Your wrath upon the sea.
Where now is Tyre, once mistress of the tide?
Her harbors burn, her timber floats as ash.
She sought the moon, and in her pride she died;
Her sails are torn, her banners turned to trash.
Let all the nations see her ruin spread,
And say, “The Lord is just in all He does.
The blood of saints shall not be left as dead,
The God of battles conquers as He must.”
Now raise the song, O Spain, whom God has crowned!
You bore the cross, and by His hand you won.
Let hymns of triumph through your halls resound—
For He has fought, and not one foe can run.
Ring out, O bells! Let incense touch the skies!
Let saints rejoice and martyrs greet this hour!
The Lord has heard His people’s bitter cries,
And shown the nations His eternal power.
__
For the Victory at Lepanto
Fernando de Herrera
(Translated by ChatGPT, 2025)
Let us sing to the Lord, who in the plain
Of the broad sea struck down the Thracian's might;
You, God of battles, strong and ever right,
Our glory and our gain.
You shattered Pharaoh’s power, fierce in pride,
And broke his brazen brow upon the tide;
His chosen lords sank down into the wave,
Like stones they fell into the ocean grave,
And your wrath swallowed them, as fire the dry—
Consumed like chaff beneath the angry sky.
The haughty tyrant, confident and proud
In all the fearsome strength his fleet displayed,
Who bound our necks and roused with iron hand
Our forced, unjust command,
With heavy arms felled cedars from the cloud
And dared, from heights by foreign waters stayed,
To trample what your covenant defends
And trespass where your holy border ends.
He drank strange streams, and proudly he defied
The host of God whom Heaven stood beside.
The weak grew pale before his cruel flame,
Confounded by his wild, impious wrath;
He raised his brow and with audacious breath
Declared your name to death.
His armed hands, in pride, to heaven he came,
And wrapped his heart in fury on his path
Against the twin Hesperias bathed in sea,
Who in your strength withstand him valiantly,
Clad in your faith, in holy arms arrayed—
By your great love and sacred power stayed.
He cried: “Do not these lands yet know my rage?
Have they not heard my fathers’ glories told?
Did not their hearts and trembling hosts collapse
Before our thundering claps
In Hungary’s dread wars from age to age,
And Rhodes and Dalmatia’s sieges bold?
Who could deliver them? Did Austria stand?
Could German strength withstand my sovereign hand?
Will now their God protect them from my sword,
Or shield them from the wrath of their true lord?
“Behold, their Rome—humiliated, afraid—
Turns all her hymns to weeping, lost and bowed.
She and her children groan beneath my ire,
Their hopes consumed by fire.
France by her own discord lies decayed;
And Spain shall soon be wrapped in fatal shroud—
For she who dares resist the moon's proud sign
Shall feel my wrath, and all her hopes resign.
And even were they free, who dares withstand
The terror and the fury of my hand?
“All nations at my feet bend low and yield,
Their necks bowed down beneath my iron yoke.
They grasp my hand for mercy in despair—
Their strength is but thin air.
Their suns go dark; their champions lose the field,
Their maids in chains, their honor all is broke.
Their glory I have seized to crown my state—
From Nile to cold Danube I hold their fate.
All that the burning sun beholds is mine,
And none shall from my will or wrath decline.”
But You, O Lord, who will not bear your name
Be stolen by proud strength in vain deceit,
Who sees the heart in fury lifted high—
Look now, and hear our cry.
This beast, who smears your altars with his shame,
Let not your people crumble at his feet.
Let beasts not gorge upon our fallen dead
Nor drink our blood, by cruel hatred shed.
He mocks: “Where is their God? Why does He hide?”—
Let your hand break his blasphemy and pride.
For your name’s glory, pure and ever bright,
For vengeance just and mercy to your own,
For the sighs of the suffering and betrayed,
Let your strong arm be laid
Against the one who loathes the human right.
Let not your jealous honors be o’erthrown.
Strike thrice and more; let fury guide the blow,
Let vengeance in your flaming justice grow.
And may the wrong against your name and throne
Be turned to iron wrath against his own.
He raised his head—this mighty foe of yours—
And gathered counsel, drawing wicked men,
Plotting the ruin of your faithful ones
With their infernal tongues:
“Come, let us make the sea a lake of gore,
Let none of them be seen or rise again.
Let Christ’s own name be swept from earth and sky;
And let our joy be sated as they die.
Let all their spoils be cast to us as meat,
And let our vengeance in their deaths be sweet.”
From Asia, Egypt, Africa they came—
The Arabs wild, the nimble Moors in flight,
And Greeks, allied in chaos and disgrace,
With pride upon their face;
In countless ranks they bore the sword and flame,
To end our days and plunge us into night.
They swore to kill our youth with iron blade,
To seize our sons and make our daughters maid,
To stain our honor, quench our radiant name—
And clothe in ruin what your grace had claimed.
They filled the sea's deep gulfs with dread and fear;
The earth fell silent in a trembling hush.
Our warriors, brave, were still and held their breath,
Awaiting word or death—
Until, against the Saracens so near,
You chose new war, and made your judgment rush.
Then rose the noble Austrian prince, arrayed
With Spain, the valiant lion unafraid;
For God no more could bear His Zion dear
To live enslaved in Babel’s yoke severe.
Like lions stalking prey with steadfast eye,
They feared no ambush, for in You they rest;
Their hearts unbound by dread, but clothed in love,
With courage from above.
To war You shaped their hands, their arms made high,
Like bows of steel drawn from the warrior’s chest.
And You, O Lord, with sword of flaming light,
Stood by their side and turned their wrath to right,
And smote the hosts with fierce celestial flame—
Till all the world beheld Your holy name.
The mighty fled, the strong in fear gave way,
And You, O Lord, delivered them to shame.
Like chaff before the wind You made them fall,
And scattered them through all.
As fire consumes the woods upon the spray,
Your wrath pursued and set their pride to flame.
You broke the cruel dragon, clipped his wings,
And silenced all his loud and boastful things.
He slinks to lair with venomed serpents curled,
In fear of Spain’s great lion, shaken, hurled.
That proud man’s eyes have now been lowered down;
His greatness lies in dust before Your hand.
Only You, O Lord, were lifted high—
Your day has drawn so nigh.
Upon the lofty neck, the cedar crown,
Upon the mountain peaks and towered land,
On ships of Tyre, their pride and strong deceit—
You poured Your fire and cast them at Your feet.
The mighty fall, their thrones now ash and gore;
They stand against Your glory nevermore.
Babylon and Egypt quake with dread;
The smoke ascends, the spears are raised to flame.
And in the ash of all their fallen pride
Your foes shall wail and hide.
But you, O Greece, to Egypt’s hope now wed,
False bride—why share in her adulterous shame?
Why clothe your daughters for such filthy bands?
Why follow in their godless, bloodstained hands?
God’s sword is drawn; your neck shall feel the blade—
And none shall stay His hand, nor bring Him aid.
And you, O Tyre, once queen upon the seas,
Who filled the world with dread and vast despair—
Where now your pride, your boast, your roaring fleet?
Now bow beneath defeat.
Your cedars lost, your harbors hushed to peace,
The winds no longer kiss your banners there.
Your glory turned to ashes, death, and cries—
By God’s own hand your princes fall and die.
So perish they who trust in fleeting might,
And not in Him who holds eternal right.
Weep, ships of Tarshish! For your strength is gone,
Your pride is shattered on the stormy shore.
Who now shall pity you, adulterous East,
So drowned in sin’s dark feast?
Who shall lament your fall, when from God’s throne
You turned and roused His wrath forevermore?
Your ancient crimes and ever-changing ways
Have called His justice to consume your days.
No mercy for your arrogance remains—
Your ruin sings the glory of His reign.
And all shall say, who see your scattered host,
Your broken pines upon the raging tide,
Your fleets destroyed, your mighty powers quelled:
"Behold what wrath has felled!"
The Lord alone has triumphed, Lord of hosts,
For whom the prince of Christ did brave and bide.
And to His glory, and His sacred name,
To Spain He gave this victory and fame.
So let the earth adore His justice done—
Our God, our strength, the Everlasting One!
__
Hymn for the Deliverance of Christendom
(In the manner of Fernando de Herrera)
Sing to the Lord, O tongues of earth and flame!
Lift high the trumpet in the house of war;
For He has drawn His sword against the proud,
And torn the thundercloud
Of heathen rage, that once defied His name.
He rode upon the whirlwind from afar,
And with His breath He shattered every shield
And broke the spear upon the crimson field.
The Lord of Hosts arose—His foes are dust;
He scatters kings who do not learn to trust.
O You who smote the dragon in the sea,
And cast the stars to guide the march of night,
You who in Sinai clothed the law with fire,
And ruled the stormy lyre,
Now bare Your arm for Zion’s liberty.
The temples groan, the altars lose their light—
False gods are praised beneath the vaulted sky,
While Your beloved children, bound, still cry.
Awake, O Lord, avenge their sacred blood;
Be wrathful as the roaring of the flood!
The nations gathered: dark their counsel stood,
And wicked was their covenant and crown.
They cast their dice for Rome and called it vain;
They swore to break the chain
Of Christ's domain, and trample on the good.
With crescent raised, they sought to strike us down—
The cross they mocked, the priest they bound in chains,
And scattered ash upon the holy plains.
They dared to say: “Where is their Lord of hosts?
Who shall arise to guard their ruined coasts?”
But God, whose throne the stormy cherubim
Uphold with wings of flame and eyes of fear,
Beheld their blasphemy, and in His wrath
He cleft a smoking path—
He spoke, and all their sun grew cold and dim.
He called His chosen from the West to steer
Against the ships that dared defile the deep;
And roused from battle's dust the lion's leap.
He stirred the blood of kings, the faith of knights,
And clothed them in the mail of sacred rites.
O valiant Spain, your trumpet shook the shore!
You rose as morning rises on the field,
With Austria at your side and sword in hand,
To guard the Christian land.
The stars of Greece, long dark, were lit once more;
The hostile tide began at last to yield.
The saints in heaven beheld and struck with flame—
And every breath they lent was in God’s name.
No strength was yours but what His hand supplied;
Your blade was His, your fury sanctified.
Then fell the towers of pride, the ivory thrones,
The bannered masts sank down like ancient trees;
The sea, once full of blasphemy and blood,
Bowed to the holy flood
Of God’s great justice, breaking bones and stones.
He turned the tempest loose upon their seas;
Their mighty lords were driven like the foam,
And found no refuge, shipwrecked far from home.
Like Pharaoh’s host, they perished in their sin—
And not one knew the ark he perished in.
Now sing, O earth! Let golden trumpets ring!
Let Cyprus, Venice, Crete and Rome proclaim:
The Lord has not forgotten David’s seed,
Nor left His Church to bleed.
He raises up the lowly and the king,
And humbles those who mock His dreadful name.
Let incense rise from altars purified,
Let virgins sing where martyrs once have died;
For He has scattered those who hated peace,
And made the sword of Christendom increase.
But you, false lands, that bowed to foreign gods,
That sold your sons for gold and kissed the foe—
What joy remains for you in shameful night,
Now banished from the light?
The Lord shall tread you with His thunder-rods;
No banner shall you lift, no harvest grow.
Your daughters mourn in sackcloth for your shame,
Your princes fall, and none dare speak their name.
Let all the earth now learn from Tyre’s disgrace:
The Lord is God. None stand before His face.
__
To the Lord, for the Victory at Lepanto
(After Fernando de Herrera, in the manner of Lope de Vega)
Sing to the Lord! He crushed the raging seas
And tamed the roaring Thracian’s cruel might.
He breaks the tyrant’s sword with holy ease,
And casts the stars of battle into night.
O God of hosts, our shield and hope, arise!
Your breath can drown the mightiest in the deep.
Like stones they fell beneath Your angry skies,
And in Your wrath they found eternal sleep.
He, proud and cloaked in ships and shining steel,
With iron pride enslaved our Christian bands.
He thought no faith could match his heart or heel,
He scorched the trees, and stole the sacred lands.
He rose against the heavens, clothed in flame,
And thundered threats against Your chosen shore.
He scorned Your temple, cursed Your holy name,
And vowed to trample Christ forevermore.
“O fools,” he said, “what help can heaven send?
Did not my sires lay mighty cities low?
Hungary, Rhodes, Dalmatia — all did bend.
Who now shall stand where all those kingdoms go?
Will Spain defend? Will trembling Rome withstand?
Will Austria hide behind her bleeding cross?
I am the storm. The world is in my hand.
Their God will fail. Their armies count as loss.”
Thus raged the boast — but Heaven saw the sin,
And heard the cries of saints in iron chains.
The Lord arose, and thundered from within
The hearts of kings, and shook the stormy plains.
He called the lion from Iberian dust,
He raised the sword in Austria’s noble hand.
By faith they moved — not pride, not mortal trust —
But hope in Him who formed the sea and land.
The fleets of Asia darkened all the main;
Their oars beat loud, their banners caught the sky.
Egypt and Greece, in treachery and chain,
Dared lift their horns, and dream they would not die.
They vowed to steal our children, bind our wives,
To shame our priests, and set our homes aflame.
They laughed to taste the blood of Christian lives,
And mocked the power of the Savior’s name.
But lo — the Lord of battles turned His eye,
And clothed His champions with the light of war.
No fear they knew, who dared with Him to die,
Their courage came from Christ — and not before.
He stretched their arms like bows of tempered steel,
He placed His breath within their faithful breast;
He touched their swords, and made the godless reel,
And cast the crescent down beneath the West.
As fire devours the forest in its pride,
So did the Lord consume the gathered host.
The sea was red. The waves grew dark and wide.
The foe who mocked now weeps and counts the cost.
The dragon's wings lie broken in the dust,
His hissing fills the shadows of his cave.
He trembles now, who once betrayed our trust—
And fears the lion that Iberia gave.
O day of God! O sword of holy flame!
How high Your justice rose above the tide.
The ships of Tyre have sunk beneath their shame,
And towers of Egypt now in smoke abide.
False Greece, who played the harlot at the gate,
Who dressed her daughters for a stranger’s sin—
You scorned your Lord. Now feel His hand of fate;
His sword is drawn. No mercy dwells therein.
Where now is Tyre, the mistress of the wave?
Who feared her once? Who mourns her fall today?
She sought the moon and served the crescent grave—
But now her sails are ash, her pride is clay.
Let all who see her ruins cry, “Beware!
The Lord is just. No arrogance shall last.
Who dares defy the King of Heaven’s air
Shall find his glory buried with the past.”
So sing, O Spain, whose arm the Lord has blessed!
The battle turned, and you were not alone.
Your sword was light, your shield was not your breast,
But He who guards the altar and the throne.
Let incense rise from every hallowed place,
Let bells be rung, let choirs fill the air.
For God has looked upon His people’s face,
And crowned the cross with victory and prayer.
__
Por la victoria de Lepanto
[Poema - Texto completo.]
Fernando de Herrera
Cantemos al Señor, que en la llanura
Venció del ancho mar al Trace fiero;
Tú, Dios de las batallas, tú eres diestra,
Salud y gloria nuestra.
Tú rompiste las fuerzas y la dura
Frente de Faraón, feroz guerrero;
Sus escogidos príncipes cubrieron
Los abismos del mar, y descendieron,
Cual piedra, en el profundo, y tu ira luego
Los tragó, como arista seca el fuego.
El soberbio tirano, confiado
En el grande aparato de sus naves,
Que de los nuestros la cerviz cautiva
Y las manos aviva
Al ministerio injusto de su estado,
Derribó con los brazos suyos graves
Los cedros más excelsos de la cima
Y el árbol que más yerto se sublima,
Bebiendo ajenas aguas y atrevido
Pisando el bando nuestro y defendido.
Temblaron los pequeños, confundidos
Del impio furor suyo; alzó la frente
Contra tí, Señor Dios, y con semblante
Y con pecho arrogante,
Y los armados brazos extendidos,
Movió el airado cuello aquel potente;
Cercó su corazón de ardiente saña
Contra las dos Hesperias, que el mar baña,
Porque en ti confiadas le resisten
Y de armas de tu fe y amor se visten.
Dijo aquel insolente y desdeñoso:
«¿No conocen mis iras estas tierras,
Y de mis padres los ilustres hechos,
O valieron sus pechos
Contra ellos con el húngaro medroso,
Y de Dalmacia y Rodas en las guerras?
¿Quién las pudo librar? ¿Quién de sus manos
Pudo salvar los de Austria y los germanos?
¿Podrá su Dios, podrá por suerte ahora
Guardarlos de mi diestra vencedora?
»Su Roma; temerosa y humillada,
Los cánticos en lágrimas convierte;
Ella y sus hijos tristes mi ira esperan
Cuando vencidos mueran;
Francia está con discordia quebrantada,
Y en España amenaza horrible muerte
Quien honra de la luna las banderas;
Y aquéllas en la guerra gentes fieras
Ocupadas están en su defensa,
Y aunque no, ¿quién hacerme puede ofensa?
»Los poderosos pueblos me obedecen,
Y el cuello con su daño al yugo inclinan,
Y me dan por salvarse ya la mano
Y su valor es vano;
Que sus luces cayendo se oscurecen,
Sus fuertes a la muerte ya caminan,
Sus vírgenes están en cautiverio,
Su gloria ha vuelto al cetro de mi imperio.
Del Nilo a Éufrates fértil e Istro frío,
Cuanto el sol alto mira todo es mío.»
Tú, Señor, que no sufres que tu gloria
Usurpe quien su fuerza osado estima,
Prevaleciendo en vanidad y en ira,
Este soberbio mira,
Que tus aras afea en su victoria.
No dejes que los tuyos así oprima,
Y en su cuerpo, crüel, las fieras cebe,
Y en su esparcida sangre el odio pruebe;
Que hecho-ya su oprobio, dice: «¿Dónde
El Dios de éstos está? ¿De quién se esconde?»
Por la debida gloria de tu nombre,
Por la justa venganza de tu gente,
Por aquel de los míseros gemido,
Vuelve el brazo tendido
Contra éste, que aborrece ya ser hombre;
Y las honras que celas tú consiente;
Y tres y cuatro veces el castigo
Esfuerza con rigor a tu enemigo,
Y la injuria a tu nombre cometida
Sea el hierro contrario de su vida.
Levantó la cabeza el poderoso
Que tanto odio te tiene; en nuestro estrago
Juntó el consejo, y contra nos pensaron
Los que en él se hallaron.
«Venid, dijeron, y en el mar ondoso
Hagamos de su sangre un grande lago;
Deshagamos a éstos de la gente,
Y el nombre de su Cristo juntamente,
Y dividiendo de ellos los despojos,
Hártense en muerte suya nuestros ojos.»
Vinieron de Asia y portentoso Egito
Los árabes y leves africanos,
Y los que Grecia junta mal con ellos,
Con los erguidos cuellos,
Con gran poder y número infinito;
Y prometer osaron con sus manos
Encender nuestros fines y dar muerte
A nuestra juventud con hierro fuerte,
Nuestros niños prender y las doncellas,
Y la gloria manchar y la luz dellas.
Ocuparon del piélago los senos,
Puesta en silencio y en temor la tierra,
Y cesaron los nuestros valerosos,
Y callaron dudosos,
Hasta que al fiero ardor de sarracenos
El Señor eligiendo nueva guerra,
Se opuso el joven de Austria generoso
Con el claro español y belicoso;
Que Dios no sufre ya en Babel cautiva
Que su Sión querida siempre viva.
Cual león a la presa apercibido,
Sin recelo los impíos esperaban
A los que tú, Señor, eras escudo;
Que el corazon desnudo
De pavor, y de amor y fe vestido,
Con celestial aliento confiaban.
Sus manos a la guerra compusiste,
Y sus brazos fortísimos pusiste
Como el arco acerado, y con la espada
Vibraste en su favor la diestra armada.
Turbáronse los grandes, los robustos
Rindiéronse temblando y desmayaron;
Y tú entregaste, Dios, como la rueda,
Como la arista queda
Al ímpetu del viento, a estos injustos,
Que mil huyendo de uno se pasmaron.
Cual fuego abrasa selvas, cuya llama
En las espesas cumbres se derrama,
Tal en tu ira y tempestad seguiste
Y su faz de ignominia convertiste.
Quebrantaste al crüel dragón, cortando
Las alas de su cuerpo temerosas
Y sus brazos terribles no vencidos;
Que con hondos gemidos
Se retira a su cueva, do silbando
Tiembla con sus culebras venenosas,
Lleno de miedo torpe sus entrañas,
De tu león temiendo las hazañas;
Que, saliendo de España, dio un rugido
Que lo dejó asombrado y aturdido.
Hoy se vieron los ojos humillados
Del sublime varón y su grandeza,
Y tú solo, Señor, fuiste exaltado;
Que tu día es llegado,
Señor de los ejércitos armados,
Sobre la alta cerviz y su dureza,
Sobre derechos cedros y extendidos,
Sobre empinados montes y crecidos,
Sobre torres y muros, y las naves
De Tiro, que a los suyos fueron graves.
Babilonia y Egito amedrentada
Temerá el fuego y la asta violenta,
Y el humo subirá a la luz del cielo,
Y faltos de consuelo,
Con rostro oscuro y soledad turbada
Tus enemigos llorarán su afrenta.
Mas tú, Grecia, concorde a la esperanza
Egipcia y gloria de su confianza,
Triste que a ella pareces, no temiendo
A Dios y a tu remedio no atendiendo,
¿Por qué, ingrata, tus hijas adornaste
En adulterio infame a una impia gente,
Que deseaba profanar tus frutos,
Y con ojos enjutos
Sus odiosos pasos imitaste,
Su aborrecida vida y mal presente?
Dios vengará sus iras en tu muerte;
Que llega a tu cerviz con diestra fuerte
La aguda espada suya; ¿quién, cuitada,
Reprimirá su mano desatada?
Mas tú, fuerza del mar, tú, excelsa Tiro,
Que en tus naves estabas gloriosa,
Y el término espantabas de la tierra,
Y si hacías guerra,
De temor la cubrías con suspiro,
¿Cómo acabaste, fiera y orgullosa?
¿Quién pensó a tu cabeza daño tanto?
Dios, para convertir tu gloria en llanto
Y derribar tus ínclitos, y fuertes
Te hizo perecer con tantas muertes.
Llorad, naves del mar; que es destruida
Vuestra vana soberbia y pensamiento.
¿Quién ya tendrá de ti lástima alguna,
Tú, que sigues la luna,
Asia adúltera, en vicios sumergida?
¿Quién mostrará un liviano sentimiento?
¿Quién rogará por ti? Que a Dios enciende
Tu ira y la arrogancia que te ofende,
Y tus viejos delitos y mudanza
Han vuelto contra ti a pedir venganza.
Los que vieron tus brazos quebrantados
Y de tus pinos ir el mar desnudo,
Que sus ondas turbaron y llanura,
Viendo tu muerte oscura,
Dirán, de tus estragos espantados:
¿Quién contra la espantosa tanto pudo?
El Señor, que mostró su fuerte mano
Por la fe de su príncipe cristiano
Y por el nombre santo de su gloria,
A su España concede esta victoria.
Bendita, Señor, sea tu grandeza;
Que después de los daños padecidos,
Después de nuestras culpas y castigo,
Rompiste al enemigo
De la antigua soberbia la dureza.
Adórente, Señor, tus escogidos,
Confiese cuanto cerca el ancho cielo
Tu nombre ¡oh nuestro Dios, nuestro consuelo!
Y la cerviz rebelde, condenada,
Perezca en bravas llamas abrasada.
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