Hear, mortals, the sacred cry:
"Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!"
Hear the noise of broken chains,
see the noble Equality enthroned.
On the surface of this land now rises
A Nation glorious and new,
Her head is crowned with laurels,
And a Lion lies at her feet.
From the new Champions their faces
Mars himself seems to encourage
Greatness nestles in their bodies:
at their march they make everything tremble.
The dead Inca are shaken,
and in their bones the ardour revives
which renews their children
of the Fatherland the ancient splendour.
Mountain ranges and walls are felt
to resound with horrible din:
the whole country is disturbed by cries
of revenge, of war and furore.
In the fiery tyrants the envy
spit the pestipherous bile;
their bloody standard they rise
provoking the most cruel combat.
Don't you see them over Mexico and Quito
throwing themselves with tenacious viciousness?
And who they cry, bathed in blood,
in Potosí, Cochabamba and La Paz?
Don't you see them over sad Caracas
spreading mourning and weeping and death?
Don't you see them devouring as wild animals
all people who surrender to them?
To you it dares, Argentines,
the pride of the vile invader;
your fields it steps on, retelling
so many glories as winner.
But the braves, who united swore
their merry freedom to sustain,
to those blood-thirsty tigers
bold chests they will know to oppose.
The valiant Argentine to arms
runs burning with determination and bravery,
the war bugle, as thunder,
in the fields of the South resounds.
Buenos Aires opposes, and it's leading
the people of the illustrious Union,
and with robust arms they tear
the arrogant Iberian lion.
San José, San Lorenzo, Suipacha,
both Piedras, Salta and Tucumán,
La Colonia and the same walls
of the tyrant in the Banda Oriental.
They are eternal signboards that say:
"Here the Argentine arm found triumph,
here the fierce oppressor of the Fatherland
his proud neck bent".
Victory to the Argentine warrior
covered with its brilliant wings,
and embarrassed at this view the tyrant
with infamy took to flight.
Its flags, its arms surrender
as trophies to freedom,
and on wings of glory the people rise
the worthy throne of their great majesty.
From one pole to the other resounds
the sonorous bugle of Fame,
and of America the name showing
they repeat "Mortals, hear!:
For their most honorable throne have opened
the United Provinces of the South."
And the free ones of the world reply:
"To the great Argentine people, hail!"
May the laurels be eternal,
that we knew how to win.
Let us live crowned with glory...
or swear to die gloriously!
