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Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Sonnet IX. To Priestley
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Tho` roused by that dark Visir riot rude
Have driven our Priestly o`er the ocean swell;
Tho` Superstition and her wolfish brood
Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell;
Calm in his halls of Brightness he shall dwell;
For lo! Religion at his strong behest
Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell,
And flings to Earth her tinsel-glittering vest,
Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy;
And Justice wakes to bid th` Oppressor wail,
Insulting 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!
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