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

Shall wail that fall, no cypress o’er it nod.

’Tis War’s repast! Their course the stormers urge,

And o’er the Hero’s corse go sweeping like a surge!

XXVI.

And Morton now, and Nial by his side,

In peril’s front the impetuous stormers lead;

Nor less their beauty nor their valour’s pride

Than his whose doom was first that day to bleed.

In generous rivalry, like mettled steed,