THE

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, & C.

ОР

THOMAS PAINE,

SECRETARY TO THE COMMITTEE OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS

IN THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, AUTHOR OF

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, &c.

SONG.

Tune-Rule Britannia.

Hail great Republic of the world,

Which rear'd, which rear'd her empire in the west,
Where fam'd Columbus', Columbus' flag unfurl'd,
Gave tortured Europe scenes of rest;

Be thou forever, forever great and free,
The land of Love, and Liberty!

Beneath thy spreading, mantling vine,

Beside, beside each flowery grove and spring, And where thy lofty, thy lofty mountains shine, May all thy sons and fair ones sing,

Be thou forever, &c.

From thee, may hellish Discord prowl,

With all, with all her dark and hateful train; And whilst thy mighty, thy mighty waters roll, May heaven descended Concord reign.

Be thou forever, &c.

Where'er the Atlantic surges lave,

Or sea, or sea the human eye delights,

There may thy starry, thy starry standard wave,

The Constellation of thy Rights!

Be thou forever, &c.

May ages as they rise proclaim,

The glories, the glories of thy natal day;

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And states from thy, from thy exalted name,

Learn how to rule, and to obey.

Be thou forever, &c.

Let Laureats make their birthdays known,

Or how, or how war's thunderbolts are hurl'd; 'Tis ours the charter, the charter ours alone,

To sing the birthday of a world!

Be thou forever, forever, great and free,
The land of Love and Liberty!

THE BOSTON PATRIOTIC SONG.

Tune-Anacreon in Heaven.

Ye Sons of Columbia who bravely have fought,

For those rights which unstain'd from your sires have descended, May you long taste the blessings your valor has bought,

And

your sons reap the soil which their fathers defended;

Mid the reign of mild peace,

May your nation increase,

With the glory of Rome, and the wisdom of Greece.
And ne'er may the sons of Columbia be slaves,

While the earth bears a plant or the sea rolls its waves.

In a clime whose rich vales feed the marts of the world,
Whose shores are unshaken by Europe's commotion;
The trident of commerce should never be hurl'd,
To increase the legitimate power of the ocean;
But should pirates invade,

Though in thunder array'd,

Let your cannon declare the free charter of trade.
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

The fame of our arms, of our laws the mild sway,
Had justly ennobled our nation in story,

Till the dark clouds of fiction obscured our bright day,
And envelop'd the sun of American glory;

But let traitors be told,

Who their country have sold,

And barter'd their God, for his image in gold,

That ne'er shall the sons, &c.

While France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in blood,
And society's base threats with wide dissolution;
May Peace like the dove, who return'd from the flood,
Find an Ark of abode in our mild Constitution;
But tho' peace is our aim,

Yet the boon we disclaim,

If bought by our Sovereignty, Justice, or Fame.
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

'Tis the fire of the flint each American warms,
Let Rome's haughty victors beware of collision!

Let them bring all the vassals of Europe in arms,
We're a World by ourselves, and disdain a division;
While with patriot pride,

To our laws we're allied,

No foe can subdue us, no faction divide;

For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

Our mountains are crown'd with imperial oak,
Whose roots like our Liberty ages have nourish'd,

But long e'er the nation submits to the yoke,

Not a tree shall be left on the soil where it flourish'd.
Should invasion impend,

Every grove would descend,

From the hill tops they shaded, our shores to defend.

For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

Let our patriots destroy vile anarchy's worm,

Lest our Liberty's growth should be check'd by corrosion, Then let clouds thicken round us, we heed not the storm, Our earth fears no shock, but the earth's own explosion, Foes assail us in vain,

Tho' their fleets bridge the main,

For our altars, and claims, with our lives we'll maintain.
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.