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 "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. A council was held in the chamber of Jove, And this was their final decree; That Wolfe should be call’d to the army above, And the charge was entrusted to me.

"To the plains of QuebeeQuebec [sic] with the orders I flew; Wolfe beg'd for a moment’s delay; He cry’d, ‘Oh; forbear, let me victory hear, And then the command I’ll obey.’ With a dark’ning film’d encompass’d his eyes, And bore him away in an urn; Lest the fondness he bore to his own native shore, Might tempt him again to return.”

