Iberia Won; A poem descriptive of the Peninsular War / With impressions from recent visits to the battle-grounds, and copious historical and illustrative notes

by T. M. Hughes

Such stone immense as feigned Æolides

In Orcus tortured flung. Down to the plain

It rolleth bounding with gigantic ease,

The mountain shaking, crashing through the trees,

Dislodging many a smaller granite mass.

Appalled its dire approach the foeman sees.

On, on it rolls, still thundering o’er the grass,

Till in the vale it rests, nor dares the Gaul to pass.

III.