His gallant form is lying on
The cold and blood-stained ground,
While thunders of the battle-field
Are raging loud around.
His helmet with its waving plume
Is lying by his side,
And from his heart the warm life-blood
Is flowing like a tide.

His blood-stained sword that's been his friend
In many a well-fought field,
Has fallen from his nerveless hand,
Unable now to wield.
The hue of death is on his cheek,.
And in his bloodshot eye,
He feels the death-chill on his brow,
And knows that he must die.

"Oh, raise my languid form," he says,
"And let me see once more
The charge of my own legions brave,
As on the foe they pour.
Go, go to them,and tell them
'Tis my last request, my all,
To onward press to victory,
And avenge their leader's fall!"

They raised him from the cold, damp ground,—
His faithful followers there,— 
And wiped the clotted blood from out
His dark and matted hair.
He glanced one moment on the fight—
The spirit fires him now—
"Oh, give me once my steed," he says,
"My helmet on my brow,

"And I will lead my men once more
To victory, or to death!"—
That moment with his life-blood passed
His last, his latest breath.
But victory crowned his banners bright,
His last high wish was granted,
That wish for which his blood was spilt,
For which his soul had panted.

In the days of old in La Mancha land,
Lived a noble knight, his quest so grand,
Don Quixote, brave and true,
With his faithful squire, the world they'd view.

Oh, Don Quixote, man of dreams,
Gallant knight of noble schemes,
With lance and shield, he rides so bold,
In tales of chivalry, his story's told.

With armour rusted and heart so pure,
To right all wrongs, his oath was sure,
On Rocinante, his steed so tall,
He'd fight for honour, justice for all.

Through windmills' arms, he'd charge with might,
Mistaking them for giants in the night,
For love of Dulcinea, his lady fair,
In every deed, she was always there.

By inns and taverns, through fields of gold,
He sought adventures, stories to unfold,
With Sancho Panza, his loyal friend,
By his side until the very end.

With wisdom simple, Sancho tried,
To show the truth where folly lied,
But Quixote’s vision, noble and grand,
Saw only the magic in every land.

From castle halls to gypsy camps,
Through starry nights and misty damps,
They journeyed far, both near and wide,
With dreams and hopes, their only guide.

In battles fought and kindness shown,
A legend grew, their fame had grown,
Though mocked by many, loved by few,
Their spirits high, their hearts so true.

But time must take its final toll,
As dreams fade out and truths unfold,
Quixote, weary, laid down his arms,
Returning home from distant charms.

In peace he rested, his quest now done,
A hero's journey, a life well-spun,
And though he's gone, his tale remains,
A beacon bright through joy and pains.

So sing we now of Quixote's fight,
A knight of old with heart so light,
In every heart his dream shall stay,
A timeless tale of Don Quixote's way.