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Laughed, and died; his eyes yet open,
Open yet his lips remained;
In that hellish smile for ever
Those cold features still were strained.

Fled the Spaniards from the city.
But the plague their steps pursuing,
Ere they left doomed Alpujara,
Was that gallant host's undoing.
 
"Thus years ago the Moors avenged themselves;
Would you the vengeance of the Litwin know?
What if some day it issue forth in words,
And come to mingle poison in the wine?
But no! ah, no! to-day are other customs.
Prince Witold; for to-day the Litwin lords
Come to deliver us their native land.
And seek for vengeance on their harassed people.

"But yet, indeed, not all—oh! no, by Perun!
There are in Litwa yet—I'll sing yet to you!
Away from me that lute—a string is broken.
No song will be—but I do trust indeed
One time there will be. This day, o'er filled cups,—