Wide o'er the western main,
A thousand spear heads glint beyond the trees
In columns bright and long:
While kindling fancy hears upon the breeze
The swell and shout of song.
And yet, not here Spain's gay, adventurous host,
Dipped sword or planted cross;
The treasures guarded by this rock-bound coast,
Counted them gain nor loss.
The blue Columbia, sired by the eternal hills,