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

To ruin far and near—below—on high.

Red streams the fluttering canvass in the eye

Of that autumnal sun—fierce embers flare,

And strew the gale—fall blackening timbers nigh;

Pyrene’s sides reflect the lurid glare,

And myriad crackling sparks are borne upon the air.

XXII.

But now resounds the cannonade of Graham—

That direful torrent o’er the stormers’ heads—

And bids Soult pause. A moment grief o’ercame