I come today to high Pichincha’s brow,
forced by the cannon of the whites to flee—
a wanderer like the sun, fiery like him,
like the sun, free!

Hear, Father Sun! The throne lies shattered now
low in the dust; profaned thine altars be.
Alone to-day I magnify thy name—
alone, but free!

Hear, Father Sun! The brand of slavery
I will not wear, for all the world to see.
Hither I come today to slay myself,
and to die free!

Today when thou are setting in the west
thous canst behold me from the distant sea
chanting thy hymns on the volcano’s crest,
singing, and free!

To-morrow, when thy radiant crown once more
far in the east shall shine forth gloriously,
thine earliest ray will only gild my grave—
grave of the free!

On it the condor from the sky will stoop,
that makes its home where lofty summits be;
there will it lay its eggs and build its nest,
unknown and free!

Translation by Alice Stone Blackwell