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

And deeply groaned, and raised a fervent prayer.

That prayer, ah me, it was not breathed to God;

It seemed the very echo of Despair!

Nor yet the name of Heaven invoked he there,

But loud at first he called the Fiend and Hell,

Till breathed the name of Isidora fair,

All ’midst his anguish dire it was a spell,

Melting his heart to tears that now in torrents fell!

XXXVIII.

“Oh, lily torn and crushed,” he said, “thou art gone!