IX.

But, hark the voice of cannon from within! ’Tis raised in joy, a Royal salvo peals. What new discovery marks that potent din, Which speaks in thunder that the assailant feels-- Bolts with each flash? For joy the Norman kneels. Where Mota’s rock above the wave doth frown, A living fount its bubbling stream reveals, More prized than diámonds on Regal crown. The stream is hoarded well--its flow supplies the town.