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

But Isidora’s lot was e’en more drear,

For none might dare from San Sebastian pass;

And shivering from each cannon’s shock with fear,

She longed by Blanca’s side—’twas vain, alas!

To pluck the summer-flowers, and brush the dewy grass,

VIII.

Dark fell the night like thickest, deadliest pall

On Blanca’s bosom fluttering nigh to swoon;

But while she drained her bitterest cup of gall,

O’er fair Biscaya’s bay arose the Moon