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

Let selfish virulence its coffers fill,

Let half-formed striplings dream that they have minds;

But vaunts mistake not for a nation’s will,

Nor lucre’s lust for what the true heart binds.

Some fervent spirits still the mockery blinds

Of patriot zeal, but fades the dream amain,

And scatters the weak bubble to the winds.

Not Erin’s heart partakes the traitor-stain;

Sound to the core the breast that bled for thee in Spain!

XLIII.