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;