ON THE LIPS OF THE LAST OF THE INCAS

Today arriving on Pichincha's slope,
The deadly cannon of the whites I flee,
Like the sun a wanderer, like the sun aflame,
Like the sun free.

O Sun, my Father, hearken! Manco's throne
Lies in the dust; Thy altar's sanctity
Profaned; exalting thee alone I pray,
Alone but free.

O Sun, my Father, hearken! A slave before
The nations of the world I'll not agree
To bear the mark. To slay myself I come,
To die though free.

Today Thou wilt perceive me, when afar
Thou dost begin to sink into the sea,
Singing Thy hymns on the volcano's top,
Singing and free.

Tomorrow though, alas! when once again
Thy crown throughout the east will shining be,
Its golden splendor on my tomb will fall,
My tomb though free.

Upon my tomb the condor will descend
From heaven, the condor, bird of liberty,
And building there its nest, will hatch its young,
Unknown and free.