Ah! woe is me, enveloped in a cloud
Of leaguering foemen are thy smoking walls,
Blood-stained and desolate thy halls.
In the deep hush of night
Fate fell upon us … in the hour of joy;
In the first flush of our triumphant might,
Glory, and Victory.
The bowl was circling, and the festive floor
With wild flowers sprinkled o’er.
We wove the mazy dance in choral bands,