Classic Poem

Seven thousand men lay bleeding on these heights,
When Beresford in strenuous conflict strove
Against a foe whom all the accidents
Of battle favored, and who knew full well
To seize all offers that occasion gave.
Wounded or dead, seven thousand here were stretch'd,
And on the plain around a myriad more,
Spaniard, and Briton, and true Portuguese,
Alike approved that day; and in the cause
Of France, with her flagitious sons compelled,
Pole and Italian, German, Hollander,
Men of all climes and countries, hither brought,
Doing and suffering for the work of war.
This point, by her superior cavalry,
France from the Spaniard won, the elements
Aiding her powerful efforts; here awhile
She seemed to rule the conflict; and from hence
The British and the Lusitanian arm
Dislodged with irresistible assault
The enemy, even when he deem'd the day
Was written for his own. But not for Soult,
But not for France was that day in the rolls
Of war to be inscribed by Victory's hand,
Not for the inhuman chief, and cause unjust;
She wrote for after-times, in blood, the names
Of Spain and England, Blake and Beresford.