Conquerors of winds and waves.[1] With dauntless brow
The Spaniards view them, and in calmness wait,
Contemning their fierce arrogance, and high
Their bosoms beating with indignant rage.
Just anger! sacred ardour! "There come nigh
Those cruel foes, who hasten war to wage,
And spill our blood, when we reposed secure
Beneath the wings of peace. They who are led
By avarice vile; who friendship's laws abjure;
Who in their endless tyranny o'erspread
Would hold condemn'd the seas; who to unite,
As brothers, pride and insolence of power
With treachery and rapacity delight;
Who"—but with mantle dark night brings the hour
To enwrap the world. Wandering round the shrouds
Are frightful shades, dire slaughter that portend
And fearful expectations raise. Through opening clouds
The day displays the field, where wildly blend
Fury and death; and horrid Mars the scene
Swells loud with shouts of war, upraised in air
His standard high. To answer intervene
From hollow brass the mortal roarings glare.
The echo thunders, and the waves resound,
Dashing themselves in rage to Afric's shore:
In conflict fly the ships to ships around,
- ↑
. . . . . . sus nadantes proras
Del viento y de las ondas vencedoras.
