On the fields of battle, in the fury of fight, Others give you their lives without pain or hesitancy, The place does not matter: cypress laurel, lily white, Scaffold, open field, conflict or martyrdom's site, It is the same if asked by home and Country.
Sweet are the hours in one's own Native Land, All there is friendly o'er which the sun shines above; Vivifying is the breeze that wafts over her fields; Even death is gratifying and more tender is love. From her lips the waters crystalline Gush forth without end, of divine virtue, And prudent doctrines of her faith The forces weak of evil subdue, That break apart like the whitish waves That lash upon the motionless shoreline: And to climb the heavenly ways the people Do learn with her noble example.
The Count of Cabra soon arrives In his strong arm he displays his saber, Like Death that lugubriously unfolds Her black wings of death and slaughter. And when the dark night wraps the cemet'ry And only the dead to vigil there are left alone, Don't disturb their repose, don't disturb the mystery: If you hear the sounds of cithern or psaltery, It is I, dear Country, who, a song t'you intone.
But not so the ferocious cavalry, As shield its breast it exposes, With gallantry it awaits the fight To attack with utter harshness.
The Muslim, stubborn and cruel Implores his Prophet vainly While against the Christians noble and strong, The spear and the rein tightens he.
His high regards for education was evident in his determination to seek the best education possible even across the shores of his country. At 5, he showed signs of being an accomplished artist with drawings and clay moldings. He was publicly executed by firing squad on December 30,