By Thomas Paine

"The sons of the East, the proud giants of old.
Have crept from their darksome abodes,
And this is the news as in Heaven it was told,
They were marching to war with the Gods;
A Council was held in the chambers of Jove,
And this was their final decree,
That Wolfe should be called to the armies above,
And the charge was intrusted to me.

"To the plains of Quebec with the orders I flew,
He begg'd for a moment's delay;
He cry'd 'Oh! forbear, let me victory hear,
And then thy command I'll obey.'
With a darksome thick film I encompass'd his eyes,
And bore him away in an urn,
Lest the fondness he bore to his own native shore,
Should induce him again to return."