The slaughter of the pagans and,
Of their dead bodies almost everywhere;
But such a ferocity is like to scramble up the ramparts.
Pregnable,
With tears running down our eyes;
But who will kiss the dusty roads?
Deified at this time,
And bribed to act treacherously at times;
For the impregnable tree has fallen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem