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

XXVII.

By that dread blaze upon the topmost height

A young French chieftain coped with Morton’s sword;

Their clashing blades upon the brow of night

Threw clustering sparkles swift as Brontes poured

’Gainst Steropes whilst Ætna’s forges roared;

And round and round they leapt to every stroke,

And with good will each point of fence explored.

But Morton’s firmer hand his guard soon broke;

The Gaulish chief disarmed the word “Surrender” spoke.