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

Behold her warriors snared in thousands fall.

But Clinton, Beresford his breast-works all

Will dauntless carry amid carnage dire;

Mont Rave thou’lt win ere Night shall spread her pall,

And bristling still shall warlike Soult retire,

While o’er Garonne thou’lt pass and Victory’s salvo fire.

XXXIII.

“And in that hour thou’lt learn not e’en the great

Usurper’s genius can avert his doom.

His crown an instant he resigns to Fate,