Thomas Paine,
Lovely Jean
(1820)
“ The fire of the gods from his chrystaline throne, Beheld the disconsolate dame, Being mov’d with her tears, sent Mercury down, And these were the tidings that came: "Britannia, forbear, not a sigh nor a tear, For thy Wolfe so deservedly lov’d; Thy grief shall be chang’d into tumults of joy, For Wolfe is not dead, but remov’d. "The sons of the earth, the proud giants of old, Have fled from their darksome abodes; And, such is the news that in heaven is told, They are marching to war with their gods. ”

