By the virgins they’ve dragged from our altars,
By our massacred patriots, our children in chains,
By our heroes of old and their blood in our veins.
That living, we shall be victorious,
Or that dying, our deaths shall be glorious.
A breath of submission we breathe not;
The sword that we’ve drawn we will sheathe not!
Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid,
And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade.
Earth may hide—waves engulph—fire consume us,