Beneath his feet unheeded thunders roar;
Smiling in scorn, he sees the glittering bands
Fly with repulse and shame old Calpe’s hopeless shore.
S. 5.
Heirs or partners of their toils,
Matchless heroes still we own;
Crowned with honourable spoils
From the leagued nations won.
On their high prows they proudly stand,
The godlike guardians of their native land;