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

The British bayonet ne’er withstanding in its ire.

XVI.

And Freyre’s Spaniards now the peak have won

Of Mandal lording o’er his craggy slopes,

Where the Green Mountain glistens in the sun,

And tow’rds Urogne an easy pathway opes.

Thus turned his flanks, and foiled in front his hopes,

Reille by the causeway of Bayonne recedes,

Till Soult’s great voice the flight majestic stops.

In vain the foeman’s breast contending bleeds;—