Death of General Wolfe Thomas Paine Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Cleary, Scott M., ed. Claeys, Gregory, gen. ed. Thomas Paine Collected Writings. Vol. II. Part 2: Poetry. Princeton Princeton UP 2026 pp. []-[]. 5 Volumes.

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Death of General Wolfe
To the Publisher of the Pennsylvania Magazine

Most of our heroes , both ancient and modern , are celebrated in song of some kind or other ; But as I know of none which pays that tribute to our immortal Wolfe , I herewith send you one . I have not pursued the worn out tract of modern song , but have thrown it into fable .

Set to Music by a gentleman of this country , the words by Atlanticus In a mouldering cave , where the wretched retreat , Britannia sat wasted with care . She wept for her Wolfe , then exclaim’d against fate , And gave herself up to despair . The walls of her cell she had sculptur’d around With exploits of her favorite son ; And even the dust as it lay on the ground , Was engrav’d with some deeds he had done . II The sire of the gods from his crystalline throne , Beheld the disconsolate dame ; And mov’d at her tears , he sent Mercury down , And these were the tidings that came : Britannia forbear , not a sigh , not a tear For thy Wolfe so deservedly lov’d ; Your grief shall be changed into triumphs of joy , For Wolfe is not dead but remov’d . III The sons of the earth , the proud giants of old , Have broke from their darksome abodes ; And such is the news , that in Heaven ’tis told , They’re marching to war with the gods . A council was held in the chamber of Jove , And this was the final decree , That Wolfe should be call’d to the armies above , And the charge was intrusted to me . IV To the plains of Quebec with the orders I flew , He begg’d for a moment’s delay ; And cried , O forbear ! Let me victory hear , And then the command I’ll obey . With a darkening film I encompass’d his eyes , And convey’d him away in an urn , Lest the fondness he bore to his own native shore , Should tempt him again to return .