Thy fame as the pine shall sway independent,
Nations shall rise from lethargy old
To tune the feats of the Norsemen bold.
Suns of the South reflect thy rays,
They breathe thy prowess on wild-flying sprays,
But their light shall wane with ages to come,
The stars of the future shall pale proud Rome.
The foam-crest brine thy daring spells,
Thy wings have climbed impetuous swells,
In tempests wild o'er main afar,