Tho' roused by that dark Visir riot rude <br />Have driven our Priestly o'er the ocean swell; <br />Tho' Superstition and her wolfish brood <br />Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell; <br />Calm in his halls of Brightness he shall dwell; <br />For lo! Religion at his strong behest <br />Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell, <br />And flings to Earth her tinsel-glittering vest, <br />Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy; <br />And Justice wakes to bid th' Oppressor wail, <br />Insulting aye the wrongs of patient folly; <br />And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won, <br />Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil <br />To smile with fondness on her gazing son!<br /><br />Samuel Taylor Coleridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-ix-to-priestley/
