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

Self-consecrate to him, her champion bold—

His—his—though Destiny pour all its phials,

His—his ’mid love’s best joys or life’s acutest trials!

XLIII.

Now tranquilly beneath the autumnal sun,

Whose beams the mountain breezes tempered bland,

Salustian, Isabel from sorrow won

Full many an hour by wings angelic fanned;

And oft within their lawn doth Nial stand,

And pluck the golden apple from the bough,