His hand—the hand of the youthful chief was on his flashing sword,
And his plume gleam'd white thro' the smoke and flame o'er the lofty city pour'd—
And the banners around him darkly swept like the waves of a stormy sea,
But Zaragoza, amid this strife, his heart was firm to thee.
"Away, away, tread her walls to dust!"—the Gallic warriors cried
"Defend, my bands, your hearth and home," the youthful chief replied.
They caught the sound of this spirit-voice as they stay'd their foes' career,
And many a thrilling cry was heard, when the bayonet met the spear
In vain, ye heroes, do you breathe your latest vows to heaven,
In vain is your devoted blood in the cause of Freedom given,