Canto a La Pampa

I sing to the pampa, the sad land,
reproachful land of curse
that never dresses in greenery
not even in the most beautiful of seasons.

Where the bird never chirps,
where the flower never grew
nor from the stream that winds
was heard its crystalline bubbling.

Until one day like a lament
from the deepest of the heart
through the camp's alleys
vibrates an accent of rebellion.

They were the moans of many chests
of many angers was the clamor
the bugle call of the rights
of the poor working people.

Blessed victims who descended
from the pampa full of faith
and upon their arrival what they heard
was the voice of gunfire only.

Eternal shame for the beasts
massacring without compassion
may they remain stained with worker's blood
as a stigma of curse.

I ask for vengeance for the brave one
that the gunfire pulverized
I ask for vengeance for the grieving one
orphaned and sad who remained there.

I ask for vengeance for the one who came
to open the workers' chests
I ask for vengeance for the pampino
who in Iquique knew how to die.