“Engracia’s stormed--the summons to despair Is oft repeated but as oft disdained. Though Zaragoza burn--though tortures tear, Her vigorous arms shall ne’er by France be chained! The foe hath entered and the Cosso gained; But desperate is the fight which there doth rage. Francisco’s convent burns, yet death fires rained More fiercely glare--such war did man ne’er wage. Beside Numantine fame ’twill sound through many an age! XXIII. “Within the Cosso’s wide and central street The foemen fierce contend from side to side. From roof and window hostile volleys meet; Each house a fortress, where assault is tried In vain--the very women far and wide Rain household gear and scalding water down. The black and shattered walls with blood are dyed. The dead in heaps putrescent grimly frown; And pestilence doth threat the death-devoted town. XXIV. “In every street are rival batteries placed. Entrenched behind a bulwark of the slain, See where yon Zaragozan death has faced, Resolved a cannon of the Frank to gain. ’Neath corse-heaped covert he hath passed a chain Round the huge gun--its end his comrades take-- Their lusty sinews pull with might and main-- The monster moves--but, ah, the chain doth break; Yet soon as Night doth fall the prize their own they make. XXV. “Terrific sight--the hospital is fired, And maniacs issue from the blazing walls; Gibbering and mouthing ’mongst the soldiers tired, Even more than War their screaming wild appals. Some frantic laugh while of their number falls A victim smote--some mope--some mutterings blend; Some dance and sing amid the hissing balls, Some with hyæna yells the welkin rend, And drivelling idiots cry while warriors fierce contend. XXVI. “Glorious resistance! See--the French recede; To far Pamplona o’er the plain they pass. Heroic town! not vainly thou dost bleed, For thou art free, though all one bruiséd mass. No monument of marble or of brass Can rival, sufferer, thy eternal fame! Nor ’mongst thy patriots be forgotten Sass, The hero-priest who to the dying came Now with the Host, and now against the foe took aim! XXVII. “Nor dauntless Manuela be unsung, Who when her townsmen from the battery fled, With burning linstock to the rampart sprung, And mounting on the cannon vowed till dead Ne’er through the siege to leave its Gorgon head. Penthesiléa not more beautiful! Nor thou, Burita, sprung from noblest bed, And delicate as fair--of courage full-- ’Mid showering shot and shell, as Hebe bountiful! XXVIII.