Te belluosus qui remotis Obstrepit Oceanus Britannis, Te non paventis funera Galliæ, Duræque tellus audit Iberiæ. _Carm._ iv. 14. Singular approximation of nations whose struggles in the Peninsular War were to make so famous near twenty centuries later! In the Peninsula I do not expect much appreciation, where even amongst those who palaver English, English poetry is not at all understood, and where once a littérateur, expressing his sham admiration of Shakspeare, spoke to me of “_Macabets_ as one progidy of a tradegy!” I am not prepared to sacrifice to an ambition which nothing but undue praise could conciliate, and I shall be satisfied with the approval of my own countrymen, if I can only have the good fortune to secure it. _Corunna, September, 1846._ IBERIA WON. A Poem. IN TWELVE CANTOS. IBERIA WON. Canto I. I. On San Sebastian’s towering castle wall, What fiery meteor crowns the brow of night? Its gathering splendour glows majestical ’Gainst darkling skies--a diadem of light! It grows amain upon the dazzled sight, While to their posts the amazed besiegers run; The eternal stars an instant beam less bright, As startled by another burning sun, Which now distincter bears the name “Napoléon!” II. For Gaul’s imperial master shines that flame, And quivering flouts the Angliberian host; Effulgent skies enthrone his mighty name-- His fortress stands impregnable, the boast! This, this his birthday, this the fearless post Where England’s strength shall fail again, again, For warriors fresh have poured along the coast; And though the siege hath cost a thousand men, No hostile foot shall dare profane that lion’s den! III. Great Arthur smiled, and calm the work went on; Bartolomeo’s heights were strengthened well, The trenches deepened ere the night was gone; Antigua’s rocks with thunder bristling tell The bold besieged how other bosoms swell With warlike pride that pants for battle’s hour; And comes the ponderous train of cannon fell To try the strength of bastion, scarp, and tower, And bid the boastful Gaul beware Britannia’s power! IV. Say, is, not death then terrible enough, Ye Captains fierce, but ye must point his dart? Is man not made of perishable stuff, But ye must wing new shafts to pierce his heart? Say, is not famine, pestilence, the smart Of dire disease and suffering, toil and wo Enough, but Nature’s pangs must be by Art Deep multiplied till tears like Ocean flow, And shattering death-bolts fly, lest Death arrive too slow? V.