At Fuentes d'Onoro

The fountains of Onoro, which give name
To this poor hamlet, were distain'd with blood,
What time Massena, driven from Portugal
By national virtue in endurance proved,
And England's faithful aid, against the land
Not long delivered, desperately made
His last fierce effort here. That day, bestreak'd
With slaughter Cos and Agueda ran.
So deeply had the open veins of war
Purpled their mountain feeders. Strong in means,
With rest, and stores, and numbers reinforced.
Came the ferocious enemy, and ween'd
Beneath their formidable cavalry
To trample down resistance. But there fought
Against them here, with Britons side by side.
The children of regenerate Portugal,
And their own crimes, and all-beholding Heaven.
Beaten, and hopeless thenceforth of success.
The inhuman Marshal, never to be named
By Lusitanian lips without a curse
Of clinging infamy, withdrew and left
These Fountains famous for his overthrow.