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!