Classic Poem

HENCE to some Convent's gloomy isles,
Where chearful day-light never smiles,
Tyrant, from Albion haste, to slavish Rome;
There by dim tapers' livid light,
At the still solemn hours of night,
In pensive musings walk o'er many a sounding tomb.

Thy clanking chains, thy crimson steel,
Thy venom'd darts, and barbarous wheel,
Malignant fiend, bear from this isle away,
Nor dare in Error's fetters bind
One active, freeborn, British mind,
That strongly strives to spring indignant from thy sway.

Thou bad'st grim M OLOCH'S frowning priest
Snatch screaming infants from the breast,
Regardless of the frantic mother's woes;
Thou led'st the ruthless sons of Spain
To wond'ring India's golden plain,
From deluges of blood where tenfold harvests rose.

But lo! how swiftly art thou fled,
When Reason lifts his radiant head;
When his resounding, awful voice they hear,
Blind I GNORANCE , thy doating fire,
Thy daughter, trembling F EAR , retire;
And all thy ghastly train of terrors disappear.

So by the Magi hail'd from far,
When P HOEBUS mounts his early car,
The shrieking ghosts to their dark charnels flock;
The full-gorg'd wolves retreat, no more
The prowling lionesses roar,
But hasten with their prey to some deep-cavern'd rock.

Mail then, ye friends of Reason hail,
Ye foes to Myst'ry's odious veil,
To Truth's high temple guide my steps aright,
Where C LARKE and W OOLASTON reside,
With L OCKE and N EWTON by their side,
While P LATO sits above enthron'd in endless light.