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The Age Reviewed

A Satire: In two parts: Second edition, revised and corrected [by Robert Montgomery]

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 I. 
 II. 
  

The cock struts nobly, now,—tu-whit—tu-whoo—
And moon-eyed owlets pierce the night-air through;
Come, promptly weave around the circle trice,
Lo! Coleridge perched upon a dome of ice!—

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Alluring spinner of unmeaning rhyme,
His “Pixy” wond'rous, and his “Ass” sublime;—
The mimic Wilson—let him be forgiv'n—
For wafting sleeping infants' thoughts to heav'n.
 

Mr. Samuel Coleridge, like Wordsworth, is a Lake poet of most original genius. But, for some occasional beautiful lines, he bountifully repays us with an immense deal of floundering bathos, German mysticisms, and perplexing absurdities. Qui sit, Mæcenas?