For when the morn awakes again, your city shall not be
The haunt of maids who warbled deep, their sweetest songs for ye!
But the story of your hallow'd death shall not remain unsung,
Oh, its record shall be glorified by many a minstrel tongue
For Freedom's holy light hath touch'd each ruin'd shrine and wall,
That sadly speak unto the heart of Zaragoza's fall.
Deal.
REGINALD AUGUSTINE.