At night our final prayer with it deals.
Whene’er the boundless sea draws us from afar,
And free the wind doth toss our locks apart;
Whene’er the steeds that roam the plain, know no bar,
With flowing mane on the horizon start;
Whene’er before our gaze proud soars the eagle
And flaps his wings in bluey heights above:
The fettered hand the while then shakes its shackle,
And quivering the lips with “Freedom” move.
O Freedom, like a wondrous myth art thou borne