With France and Erin heartening Washington,

Prone Freedom rose, with head above the cloud.

Beholding her transfigured, Thrall is cowed.

His minions are bewildered. How they run!

Some follow him against the rising sun;

Others plod north. The Torries' vaster crowd

Hide in dark places, and like Satan, proud,

They hate the glory, that the true have won.

O Milton! Thou beheldest them. Thine ear

Caught their defiance and thy lightening pen,

In shattering the dark in evil's den,

Caught hope amphibious from leer to leer

Of those grim shadows, plotting to regain

Lost Paradise, or bane its atmosphere.