Lines, Extempore, by Thomas Paine, July 1803

Quick as the light’ning’s vivid flash,
The poet’s eye o’er Europe rolls,
Sees battles rage — hears tempests crash,
And dims at horror’s threatening scowls.
Marks ambition’s ruthless king,
With crimson’d banners scalp the globe,
While trailing after conquest’s wing,
Man’s fest’ring wounds his demon’s probe.
Pall’d with the streams of reeking gore,
That stain the proud imperial day,
He turns to view the western shore,
Where freedom holds her bloodless sway.
’Tis here her rage triumphant sways,
An empire in the people’s love,
’Tis here the sovereign will obeys,
No King but he who rules above.
