DAUGHTER of Liberty! whose knife So busy chops the threads of life, And frees from cumb’rous clay the spirit; Ah! why alone shall Gallia feel The beauties of thy pond’rous steel? Why must not Britain mark thy merit? Hark! ’tis the dungeon’s groan I hear; And lo, a squalid band appear, With sallow cheek, and hollow eye! Unwilling, lo, the neck they bend; Yet, through thy pow’r, their terrors end, And with their heads the sorrows fly. O let us view thy lofty grace; To Britons shew thy blushing face, And bless Rebellion’s life-tir’d train! Joy to my soul! she’s on her way, Led by her dearest friends, Dismay, Death, and the Devil, and Tom Paine!