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

No blood-stained laurels shall thy forehead stain,

But Peace with olive branch o’ershadowing bide,

And mark the Godhead in thy empire wide.

Not human anguish but new joy to Man

Thy limbs shall shed in their colossal stride;

Foredoomed despotic wrath and wrong to ban,

And make creation square with the Eternal plan!

XXXVII.

As thine the curb, so thine be too the scourge,

Not lightly used, but terrible in need.