FREEDOM'S TRIUMPH
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.