So hath our land breath’d out—thy fame to dim,
Thy strength to waste, and rot thee, soul and limb—
Her worst infections all condens’d in him!
When will the world shake off such yokes? Oh, when
Will that redeeming day shine out on men,
That shall behold them rise, erect and free
As Heav’n and Nature meant mankind should be?
When Reason shall no longer blindly bow
To the vile pagod things, that o’er her brow,