John Wolcot Poems

Daughter of Liberty! whose knife
So busy chops the threads of life,
And frees from cumbrous clay the spirit;
Ah! why alone shall Gallia feel
...

Now the rage of Battle ended
And the French for mercy call;
Death no more in smoke and thunder
Rode upon the vengeful Ball.
...

Again we begin to be Britons, my boys,
While united success we command:
Lo, each Tar on the Ocean a triumph enjoys,
...

Ah! poor intoxicated little knave,
Now senseless, floating on the fragrant wave;
Why not content the cakes alone to munch?
...