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

Through the dread marsh with new dismay to fill

The French battalions, Cotton’s bold hussars

Their rout completing. There thy dauntless will

Thou’lt prove ’neath wound which nought thy progress bars,

And France thy onward tread shall feel, despite of scars!

XXXI.

“Then on the steep and wooded height of Aire,

Where Lusitain’s brigade shall bleeding fly,

And lose the battle but that Hill is there,

Resolved with British steel to do or die!