By Luis G. Dato
Up north beside Lepanto wild and far,
By high Kabakan’s slopes a trail zigzags
Its way across a wilderness and drags
A weight of stones and memories of war.
No forest creeping out shall hide of war
The savage charm of Tirad’s blood-stained crags
O’er which were hoisted once the battle-flags,
By bullets torn, of valiant del Pilar.
Like Leonidas, was the young hero then,
Undaunted by a swift, advancing foe,
Arousing flame in his embattled men,
For country soon in death they would lie low,
While down below, in war-stirred Lingayen,
A maiden knelt in prayer in her woe.
