And read their praises from a foreign pen,
Their lot forbade; nor circumscrib’d alone
Their growing merit, but their faults confin’d;
Forbade to raise the persecutor’s throne,
And shut the gates of freedom on the mind.
The gentle charms of Christian truth to hide,
To wake her blushes of ingenuous shame,
Heaping the shrine of bigotry and pride,
With incense kindled at her sacred flame.
Far from the wrangling Bar’s high purchas’d strife,