ave loved to
pay their homage, and in the sixteenth, which he entitles Palinodia, he
provokes a comparison with Mr. Coleridge. One or two extracts from each
will shew the difference between the artificial heat of the schools and
the warmth of a real enthusiasm.

Art thou not she whom fav'ring fate
In all her splendour drest,
To show in how supreme a state
A mortal might be blest?
Bade beauty, elegance, and health,
Patrician birth, patrician wealth,
Their blessings on her darling shed;
Bade Hymen, of that generous race
Who freedom's fairest annals grace,
Give to thy love th'illustrious head.

_Mason._

Light as a dream, your days their circlets ran,
From all that teaches brotherhood to man
Far, far removed; from want, from hope, from fear,
Enchanting music lull'd your infant ear,
Obeisant praises sooth'd your infant heart:
Emblasonments and old ancestral crests,
With many a bright obtrusive form of art,
Detain'd your eye from nature; stately vests,
That veiling strove to deck your charms divine,
Were your's unearn'd by toil.

_Coleridge, Ode to Georgiana, Duchess of Gloucester._

Say did I err, chaste Liberty,
When, warm with youthful fire,
I gave the vernal fruits to thee,
That ripen'd on my lyre?
When, round thy twin-born sister's shrine
I taught the flowers of verse to twine
And blend in one their fresh perfume;
Forbade them, vagrant and disjoin'd,
To give to every wanton wind
Their fragrance and their bloom?

_Mason._

Ye clouds, that far above me float and pause,
Whose pathless march no mortal may controul!
Ye ocean waves, that, whereso'er ye roll,
Yield homage only to eternal laws!
Ye woods, that listen to the night-birds singing,
Midway the smooth and perilous steep reclin'd;
Save when your own imperious branches swinging,
Have made a solemn music of the wind!
Where, like a man belov'd of God,
Through glooms, which never woodman trod,
How oft, pursuing fancies holy,
My moonlight way o'er flow'ring weeds I wound,
Inspir'd beyond the guess of folly,
By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound!
O, ye loud waves, and O, ye forests high,
And O, ye clouds, that far above me soar'd!
Thou rising sun! thou blue rejoicing sky!
Yea, every thing that is and will be free,
Bear witness for me wheresoe'er ye be,
With what deep worship I have still adored