Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Priestley

Though rous'd by that dark Vizir Riot rude        &nbspHave driven our Priestley o'er the Ocean swell;        &nbspThough Superstition and her wolfish brood Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell; Calm in his halls of brightness he shall dwell!        &nbspFor lo! Religion at his strong behest        &nbspStarts with mild anger from the Papal spell, And flings to Earth her tinsel-glittering vest, Her mitred State and cumbrous Pomp unholy;        &nbspAnd Justice wakes to bid th' Oppressor wail        &nbspInsulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly; And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil To smile with fondness on her gazing Son!