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

Seven columns o’er the sand like serpents wind,

With crimson bright and azure scales bespread—

The various garbs of Spain and England joined—

And glancing bayonets bristle o’er each head;

No Hydra in Lernæan marsh so dread!

The Gaul o’ermatched can scarcely trust his eyes.

Confusedly gathering each with shame is red;

And form our lines beyond the stream ere flies

A hostile shot, so great that terrible surprise!

XI.