Once draw the sword; its burning point shall bring To thy quick nerves a never-ending sting; The blood they shed thy weight of wo shall swell, And th… - Joel Barlow

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Once draw the sword; its burning point shall bring To thy quick nerves a never-ending sting; The blood they shed thy weight of wo shall swell, And their grim ghosts for ever with thee dwell. Learn hence, ye tyrants, ere ye learn too late, Of all your craft th' inevitable fate. The hour is come, the world's unclosing eyes Discern with rapture where its wisdom lies; From western heav'ns th' inverted Orient springs, The morn of man, the dreadful night of kings. Dim, like the day-struck owl, ye grope in light, No arm for combat, no resource in sight; If on your guards your lingering hopes repose, Your guards are men, and men you've made your foes; If to your rocky ramparts ye repair, De Launay's fate can tell your fortune there. No turn, no shift, no courtly arts avail, Each mask is broken, all illusions fail; Driv'n to your last retreat of shame and fear, One counsel waits you, one relief is near : By worth internal, rise to self-wrought fame, Your equal rank, your human kindred claim; 'Tis Reason's choice, 'tis Wisdom's final plan, To drop the monarch and assume the man.