Son of a race, whose dusky visage shows
The heel of fortune, those who walk unfree
Though cradled in the hold of liberty,
Whose shackled spirit every gamut knows
Of Hate’s cadenza, through whose warm blood flows
The royal ransom of love’s dynasty,
Scion of these, he strides to meet his foes.
Erect, unbending, note his sable brow,
The rugged furrows where deep feelings plough,
The step of vigor and the noble air,
The subtle halo of his wintry hair,
Up from the furnace of the Earth’s red sea
A man is fashioned for the years to be!