All you on the numberless islands of the archipelagoes of the sea!
Young Libertad! with the venerable Asia, the all-mother, Be considerate with her now and ever hot Libertad, for you are all, Bend your proud neck to the long-off mother now sending messages over the archipelagoes to you, Bend your proud neck low for once, young Libertad.
His daring foot is on land and sea everywhere, he colonizes the Pacific, the archipelagoes, With the steamship, the electric telegraph, the newspaper, the wholesale engines of war, With these and the world-spreading factories he interlinks all geography, all lands; What whispers are these O lands, running ahead of you, passing under the seas?
…than any before, as in a vision it comes to me, I chant America the mistress, I chant a greater supremacy, I chant projected a thousand blooming cities yet in time on those groups of sea-islands, My sail-ships and steam-ships threading the archipelagoes, My stars and stripes fluttering in the wind, Commerce opening, the sleep of ages having done its work, races reborn, refresh’d, Lives, works resumed—the object I know not—but the old, the Asiatic renew’d as it must be, Commencing from…
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The archipelago is 300 miles from Argentina.
I am pleased with myself; I have three hours more until I reach the thick of the Missouri Ozarks and my destination, a small archipelago of cabins in the woods that accepts cash for weekly rentals and has cable TV, a must.