The queen gem in thy priceless crown; the tide
Which racked thy battle-scarred and hoary prow,
Yet seeks in rhythm tender to avow
How by Roncador's will, alas, ye died.
Columbia well thy deeds may deify,
In liberty immortal rise, be blest,
While stars with march majestic, tread the sky,
Thy home behold in every free man's breast;
Piratic torch and Boreas but vie
When—lo! with charms sublime they thee invest.