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

XIII.

The booming salvo hurls its ceaseless shower,

Saint John’s huge bastion slowly crumbling falls,

Destruction seizes many a stately tower,

And totter to their base Tirynthian walls

Beneath the fury of resistless balls,

From circling orchards heaved by Britain’s sons;

And snake-like trench advancing swift appals

The garrison, as o’er the isthmus runs

The deadly sapper’s stroke that like an earthquake stuns.