With Waltz compare, or after waltz be borne ?
Ah no! from Morier's pages down to Galt's,
Each tourist pens a paragraph for "Waltz.”
She cune-Waltz came-and with her certain sets Can aught from cold Kamscatka to Cape Horn
Of true despatches, and as true gazettes;
Then flamed of Austerlitz the blest despatch,
Which Moniteur nor Morning Post can match:
And-almost crush'd beneath the glorious news-
Ten plays, and forty tales of Kotzebue's;
One envoy's letters, six composers' airs,
And loads from Frankfort and from Leipsic fairs;
Meiner's four volumes upon womankind,
Like Lapland witches to ensure a wind;
Brunck's heaviest tome for ballast, and, to back it,
Of Heyne, such as should not sink the packet.
Fraught with this cargo-and her fairest freight,
Deligthful Waltz, on tiptoe for a mate,
The welcome vessel reach'd the genial strand,
And round her flock'd the daughters of the land.
Not decent David, when, before the ark,
His grand pas-seul excited some remark;
Not love-lorn Quixote, when his Sancho thought
The knight's fandango, friskier than it ought;
Not soft Herodias, when with winning tread
Her nimble feet danced of another's head;
Not Cleopatra on her galley's deck,
Display'd so much of leg, or more of neck,
Than thou, ambrosial Waltz, when first the moon
Beheld thee twirling to a Saxon tune!
Shades of those belles whose reign began of yore,
With George the Third's-and ended long before!-
Though in your daughters' daughters yet you thrive,
Burst from your lead, and be yourselves alive!
Back to the ball-room speed your spectred host;
Fool's Paradise is dull to that you lost. •
To you, ye husbands of ten years! whose brows
Ache with the annual tributes of a spouse ;
To you of nine years less, who only bear
The budding sprouts of those that you shall wear,
With added ornaments around them roll'd
Of native brass, or law-awarded gold;
To you, ye matrons, ever on the watch
To mar a son's, or make a daughter's match:
To you, ye children of-whom chance accords-
Always the ladies, and sometimes their lords
To you, ye single gentlemen, who seek
Torments for life, or pleasures for a week;
As Love or Hymen your endeavors guide,
To gain your own, or snatch another's bride;-
To one and all the lovely stranger came,
And every ball-room echoes with her name.
Endearing Waltz !-to thy more melting tune
Bow Irish jig and ancient rigadoon.
Scotch reels, avaunt! and country-dance, forego
Your future claims to each fantastic toe!
No treacherous powder bids conjecture quake;
No stiff-starch'd stays make meddling fingers ache;
(Transferr'd to those ambiguous things that ape
Goats in their visage,* women in their shape;)
No damsel faints when rather closely press'd,
But more caressing seems when most caress'd;
Superfluous hartshorn, and reviving salts,
Both banish'd by the sovereign cordial "Waltz.'
Seductive Waltz !-though on thy native shore
Even Werter's self proclaim'd thee half a whore ;
Werter-to decent vice though much inclined,
Yet warm, not wanton; dazzled, but not blind-
Though gentle Genlis, in her strife with Stael,
Would even proscribe thee from a Paris ball;
The fashion hails-from countesses to queens,
And maids and valets waltz behind the scenes;
Wide and more wide thy witching circle spreads,
And turns-if nothing else-at least our heads;
With thee even clumsy cits attempt to bounce,
And cockneys practice what they can't pronounce.
Gods! how the glorious theme my strain exalts,
And rhyme finds partner rhyme in praise of "Waltz!"
Blest was the time Waltz chose for her début ;
The court, the Regent, like herself were new;†
New face for friends, for foes some new rewards;
New ornaments for black and royal guards;
New laws to hang the rogues that roar'd for bread;
New coins (most new †) to follow those that fled;
New victories-nor can we prize them less,
Though Jenky wonders at his own success;
New wars, because the old succeed so well,
That most survivors envy those who fell;
* It cannot be complained now, as in the Lady Baussiere's time, of the "Sieur de la Croix,” that there be "no whiskers; " but how far these are
Waltz-Waltz alone-both legs and arms demands, indications of valor in the field, or elsewhere, may still be questionable.
Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands;
Hands which may freely range in public sight
Much may be and hath been avouched on both sides. In the olden time philosophers had whiskers, and soldiers none-Scipio himself was shaven— Hannibal thought his one eye handsome enough without a beard; but Adrian,
Where ne'er before-but-pray "put out the light." the emperor, wore a beard (having warts on his chin, which neither the
Methinks the glare of yonder chandelier
Shines much too far-or I am much too near :
Empress Sabina nor even the courtiers could abide)-Turenne had whiskers, Marlborough none-Buonaparte is unwhiskered, the Regent whiskered; "argal" greatness of mind and whiskers may or may not go together: but
And true, though strange-Waltz whispers this certainly the different occurrences, since the growth of the last raentione.l, go
"My slippery steps are safest in the dark!
But here the muse with due decorum halts,
And lends her longest petticoat to Waltz.
Observant travellers of every time!
Ye quartos publish'd upon every clime!
O say, shall dull Romaika's heavy round,
Fandango's wriggle, or Bolero's bound;
Can Egypt's Almas*-tantalizing group—
Columbia's caperers to the warlike whoop-
further in behalf of whiskers than the anathema of Anselm did against long hair in the reign of Henry I.
Formerly red was a favorite color. See Lodowick Barrey's comedy of Ram Alley, 1661, Act 1. Scene I.
"Taffeta. Now, for a wager-What colored heard comes next by the window ?
"Adriano. A black man's, I think.
"Taffeta. I think not so; 1 think a red, for that is most in fashion." There is "nothing new under the sun;" but red, then a favorite, has now subsided into a favorite's color.
↑ An anachronism-Waltz and the battle of Austerlitz are before said to have opened the ball together: the bard means, (if he means any thing,) Waltz was not so much in vogue till the Regent attained the acmé of his popularity. Waltz, the comet, whiskers, and the new government, illuminated heaven and earth, in all their glory, much about the same time: of these the
rather than the quantity of provision, be totally alleviated. It is said, in re-comet only has disappeared; the other three continue to astonish us still.turn, that the untouched Ukraine has subscribed sixty thousand beeves for a Printer's Devil. day's meal to our suffering manufacturers.
Among others a new ninepence-a creditable coin now forthcoming. worth a pound, in paper, at the fairest calculation.
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New mistresses-no, old-and yet 'tis true,
Though they be old, the thing is something new;
Each new, quite new-(except some ancient tricks,*)
New white-sticks, gold-sticks, broom-sticks, all
new sticks!
With vests or ribands-deck'd alike in hue,
New troopers strut, new turncoats blush in blue:
So saith the muse-my-,† what say you?
Such was the time when Waltz might best maintain
Her new preferments in this novel reign;
Such was the time, nor ever yet was such;
Hoops are no more, and petticoats not much;
Morals and minuets, virtue and her stays,
And tell-tale powder-all have had their days.
The ball begins-the honors of the house
First duly done by daughter or by spouse,
Some potentate-or royal or serene-
With Kent's gay grace, or sapient Gloucester's
Leads forth the ready dame, whose rising flush
Might once have been mistaken for a blush.
From where the garb just leaves the bosom free,
That spot where hearts were once supposed to be;
Round all the confines of the yielded waist,
The strangest hand may wander undisplaced;
The lady's in return may grasp as much
As princely paunches offer to her touch.
Till some might marvel with the modest Turk,
If "nothing follows all this palming work?”*
True, honest Mirza !-you may trust my rhyme-
Something does follow at a fitter time;
The breast thus publicly resign'd to man,
In private may resist him—if it can.
O ye who loved our grandmothers of yore,
Fitzpatrick, Sheridan, and many more!
And thou, my prince! whose sovereign taste and will
It is to love the lovely beldames still!
Thou ghost of Queensbury! whose judging sprite
Satan may spare to peep a single night,
Pronounce-if ever in your days of bliss
Asmodeus struck so bright a stroke as this;
To teach the young ideas how to rise,
Flush in the cheek and languish in the eyes,
Rush to the heart and lighten through the frame,
With half-told wish and ill-dissembled flame;
For prurient nature still will storm the breast-
Who, tempted thus, can answer for the rest?
But ye-who never felt a single thought
For what our morals are to be or ought;
Who wisely wish the charms you view to reap,
Pleased round the chalky floor how well they trip, Say-would you make those beauties quite so cheap?
One hand reposing on the royal hip:
The other to the shoulder no less royal
For whose biest surnames-vide "Morning Post; " (Or if for that impartial print too late,
Hot from the hands promiscuously applied,
Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side,
Where were the rapture then to clasp the form
From this lewd grasp and lawless contact warm ?
At once love's most endearing thought resign,
To press the hand so press'd by none but thine;
To gaze upon that eye which never met
Another's ardent look without regret ;
Approach the lip which all, without restraint,
Come near enough-if not to touch-to taint;
Search Doctors' Commons six months from my If such thou lovest-love her then no more,
Thus all and each, in movement soft or slow, The genial contact gently undergo;
* "Oh that right should thus overcome might! Who does not remember the "delicate investigation "in the "Merry Wives of Windsor?'
"Ford. Pray you, come near: if 1 suspect without cause, why then make sport at me; then let me be your jest; I deserve it. How now? whither bear you this?
"Mrs. Ford. What have you to do whither they bear it!—you were best meddle with buck-washing."
†The gentle, or ferocious reader, may fill up the blank as he pleasesthere are several dissyllabic names at his service, (being already in the Regent's :) it would not be fair to back any peculiar initial against the alphabet, as every month will add to the list now entered for the sweepstakes: a distinguished consonant is said to be the favorite, much against the wishes of the knowing ones.
Or give-like her-caresses to a score;
Her mind with these is gone, and with it go
The little left behind it to bestow.
Voluptuous Waltz! and dare I thus blaspheme?
Thy bard forgot thy praises were his theme.
Terpsichore, forgive!—at every ball
My wife now waltzes-and my daughters shall;
My son-(or stop-'tis needless to inquire-
These little accidents should ne'er transpire;
Some ages hence our genealogic tree
Will wear as green a bough for him as me)-
"We have changed all that," says the Mock Doctor-'tis all gone-Waltzing shall rear, to make our name amends, Asmdoeus knows where. After all, it is of no great importance how women's Grandsons for me-in heirs to all his friends. nearts are disposed of; they have nature's privilege to distribute them as absurdly as possible. But there are also some men with hearts so thoroughly bad, as to remind us of those phenomena often mentioned in natural history;
viz, a mass of solid stone-only to be opened by force and when divided, you discover a toad in the centre, lively, and with the reputation of being ven
In Turkey a pertinent, here an impertinent and superfluous question→→ literally put, as in the text, by a Dersian to Morier on seeing a waltz in Pera
THE AGE
AGE OF
OF BRONZE;
CARMEN SECULARE ET ANNUS HAUD MIRABILIS
"Impar Congressus Achilli,”
THE "good old times"-all times when old are good
gone; the present might be if they would;
Great things have been, and are, and greater still
Want little of mere mortals but their will
A wider space, a greener field, is given
To those who play their "tricks before high heaven.
I know not if the angels weep, but men
Have wept enough-for what?-to weep again.
All is exploded-be it good or bad.
Reader! remember when thou wert a lad,
Then Pitt was all; or, if not all, so much,
His very rival almost deem'd him such.
We, we have seen the intellectual race
Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face-
Athos and Ida, with a dashing sea
Of eloquence between, which flow'd all free,
As the deep billows of the Ægean roar
Betwixt the Hellenic and the Phrygian shore;
But where are they-the rivals ?-a few feet
Of sullen earth divide each winding sheet.
How peaceful and how powerful is the grave
Which hushes all! a calm, unstormy wave
Which oversweeps the world. The theme is old
Of "Dust to dust;" but half its tale untold:
Time tempers not its terrors-still the worm
Winds its cold folds, the tomb preserves its form,
Varied above, but still alike below;
The urn may shine, the ashes will not glow,
Though Cleopatra's mummy cross the sea
O'er which from empire she lured Antony;
Though Alexander's urn a show be grown,
On shores he wept to conquer, though unknown-
How vain, how worse than vain, at length appear
The madman's wish, the Macedonian's tear!
He wept for worlds to conquer-half the earth
Knows not his name, or but his death, and birth,
And desolation; while his native Greece
Hath all of desolation save its peace.
He "wept for worlds to conquer!" he who ne'er
Conceived the globe, he panted not to spare!
With even the busy Northern Isle unknown,
Which holds his urn, and never knew his throne.
But where is he, the modern, mightier far,
Who, born no king, made monarchs draw his car;
The new Sesostris, whose unharness'd kings,
Freed from the bit, believe themselves with wings,
And spurn the dust o'er which they crawl'd of late,
Chain'd to the chariot of the chieftain's state?
Yes! where is he, the champion and the child
Of all that's great or little, wise or wild?
Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were
thrones ?
Whose table earth-whose dice were human bones ?
Behold the grand result in yon lone isle,
And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile.
Sigh to behold the eagle's lofty rage
Reduced to nibble at his narrow cage;
Smile to survey the queller of the nations
Now daily squabbling o'er disputed rations;
Weep to perceive him mourning, as he dines,
O'er curtail'd dishes and o'er stinted wines;
O'er petty quarrels upon petty things.
Is this the man who scourged or feasted kings?
Behold the scales in which his fortune hangs,
A surgeon's statement, and an earl's harangues
A bust delay'd, a book refused, can shake
The sleep of him who kept the world awake.
Is this indeed the tamer of the great,
Now slave of all could tease or irritate-
The palty jailer and the prying spy,
The staring stranger with his note-book nigh?
Plunged in a dungeon, he had still been great;
How low, how little was this middle state,
Between a prison and a palace, where
How few could feel for what he had to bear'
Vain his complaint,-my lord presents his bill,
His food and wine were doled out duly still:
Vain was his sickness, never was a clime
So free from homicide-to doubt's a crime;
And the stiff surgeon, who maintain'd his cause,
Hath lost his place, and gain'd the world's applause.
But smile-though all the pangs of brain and heart
Disdain, defy, the tardy aid of art:
Ye Alps, which view'd him in his dawning flights
Hover, the victor of a hundred fights!
Thou Rome, who saw'st thy Cæsar's deeds outdone
Alas! why past he too the Rubicon-
The Rubicon of man's awaken'd rights,
To herd with vulgar kings and parasites ?
Egypt! from whose all dateless tombs arose
Forgotten Pharaohs from their long repose,
Though, save the few fond friends, and imaged face And shook within their pyramids to hear
Of that fair boy his sire shall ne'er embrace,
None stand by his low bed-though even the mind
Be wavering, which long awed and awes mankind;
Smile-for the fetter'd eagle breaks his chain,
And higher worlds than this are his again.
How, if that soaring spirit still retain
A conscious twilight of his blazing reign,
How must he smile, on looking down, to see
The little that he was and sought to be!
What though his name a wider empire found
Than his ambition, though with scarce a bound;
Though first in glory, deepest in reverse,
He tasted empire's blessings and its curse;
Though kings, rejoicing in their late escape
From chains, would gladly be their tyrant's ape:
How must he smile, and turn to yon lone grave,
The proudest sea-mark that o'ertops the wave!
What though his jailer, duteous to the last,
A new Cambyses thundering in their ear;
While the dark shades of forty ages stood
Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood;
Or from the pyramid's tall pinnacle
Behold the desert peopled, as from hell,
With clashing hosts, who strew'd the barren sand
To re-manure the uncultivated land!
Spain! which, a moment mindless of the Cid,
Behold his banner flouting thy Madrid!
Austria! which saw thy twice-ta’en capital
Twice spared, to be the traitress of his fall!
Ye race of Frederic! Frederic but in name
And falsehood-heirs to all except his fame;
Who, crush'd at Jena, crouch'd at Berlin, fell
First, and but rose to follow! Ye who dwell
Where Kosciusko dwelt, remembering yet
The unpaid amount of Catherine's bloody debt!
Poland! o'er which the avenging angel past,
But left thee as he found thee, still a waste,
Forgetting all thy still enduring claim,
Thy lotted people and extinguish'd name,
Scarce deem'd the coffin's lead could keep him fast, Thy sigh for freedom, thy long-flowing tear,
Refusing one poor line along the lid,
To date the birth and death of all it hid;
That name shall hallow the ignoble shore,
A talisman to all save him who bore;
The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast
Shall hear their sea-boys hail it from the mast;
When Victory's Gallic column shall but rise,
Like Pompey's pillar, in a desert's skies,
The rocky isle that holds or held his dust
Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero's bust,
And mighty nature o'er his obsequies
Do more than niggard envy still denies.
But what are these to him? Can glory's lust
Touch the freed spirit or the fetter'd dust?
Small care hath he of what his tomb consists;
Nought if he sleeps-nor more if he exists:
Alike the better-seeing Shade will smile
On the rude cavern of the rocky isle,
As if his ashes found their latest home
In Rome's Pantheon or Gaul's mimic dome.
He wants not this; but France shall feel the want
Of this last consolation, though so scant;
Her honor, fame, and faith demand his bones,
To rear above a pyramid of thrones;
Or carried onward in the battle's van,
To form, like Guesclin's * dust, her talisman.
But be it as it is-the time may come
His name shall beat the alarm, like Ziska's drum.
Oh heaven! of which he was in power a feature;
Oh earth of which he was a noble creature;
Thou isle! to be remember'd long and well,
That saw'st the unfledg'd eaglet chip his shell!
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That sound that crashes in the tyrant's ear-
Kosciusko! On-on-on-the thirst of war
Gasps for the gore of serfs, and of their czar.
The half barbaric Moscow's minarets
Gleam in the sun, but 'tis a sun that sets!
Moscow thou limit of his long career,
For which rude Charles had wept his frozen tear
To see in vain-he saw thee-how? with spire
And palace fuel to one common fire.
To this the soldier lent his kindling match,
To this the peasant gave his cottage thatch,
To this the merchant flung his hoarded store,
The prince his hall-and Moscow was no more!
Sublimest of volcanos! Etna's flame
Pales before thine, and quenchless Hecla's tame;
Vesuvius shows his blaze, an usual sight
For gaping tourists, from his hackney'd height:
Thou stand'st alone unrivall'd, till the fire
To come, in which all empires shall expire'
Thou other element! as strong and stern,
To teach a lesson conquerors will not learn!
Whose icy wing flapp'd o'er the faltering foe,
Till fell a hero with each flake of snow;
How did thy numbing beak and silent fang
Pierce, till hosts perish'd with a single pang;
In vain shall Seine look up along his banks
For the gay thousands of his dashing ranks !
In vain shall France recall beneath her vines
Her youth- their blood flows faster than her
wines ;
Or stagnant in their human ice remains
In frozen mummies on the Polar plains.
In vain will Italy's broad sun awaken
Her offspring chill'd; its beams are now forsaken.
Of all the trophies gather'd from the war,
What shall return ?-the conqueror's broken car:
Guesclin died during the siege of a city; it surrendered, and the key. The conqueror's yet unbroken heart! Again
were brought and laid upon his bier, so that the place might appear rendered to his ashes.
The horn of Roland sounds, and not in vain.
Lutzen, where fell the Swede of victory,
Beholds him conquer, but, alas! not die;
Dresden surveys three despots fly once more
Before their sovereign,-sovereign as before;
But there exhausted Fortune quits the field,
And Leipsic's treason bids the unvanquish'd yield;
The Saxon jackal leaves the lion's side
To turn the bear's, and wolf's, and fox's, guide;
And backward to the den of his despair
The forest monarch shrinks, but finds no lair!
Oh ye! and each, and all! Oh France! who found
Thy long fair fields, plough'd up as hostile ground,
Disputed foot by foot, till treason, still
His only victor, from Montmartre's hill
Look'd down o'er trambled Paris! and thou Isle,
Which seest Etruria from thy ramparts smile,
Thou momentary shelter of his pride,
Till woo'd by danger, his yet weeping bride!
Oh France! retaken by a single march,
Where Cortes' and Pizarro's banner flew,
The infant world redeems her name of "New.”
'Tis the old aspiration breathed afresh,
To kindle souls within degraded flesh,
Such as repulsed the Persian from the shore
Where Greece was-No! she still is Greece no more.
One common cause makes myriads of one breast,
Slaves of the east, or helots of the west;
On Andes' and on Athos' peaks unfurl'd,
The self-same standard streams o'er either world;
The Athenian wears again Harmodius' sword;
The Chili chief abjures his foreign lord ;*
The Spartan knows himself once more a Greek,
Young Freedom plumes the crest of each cacique;
Debating despots, hemm'd on either shore,
Shrink vainly from the roused Atlantic's roar;
Through Calpe's strait the rolling tides advance,
Sweep lightly by the half-tamed land of France,
Dash o'er the old Spaniard's cradle, and would fain
Whose path was through one long triumphal arch! Unite Ausonia to the mighty main :
Oh bloody and most bootless Waterloo !
But driven from thence awhile, yet not for aye,
Which proves how fools may have their fortune too, Break o'er th' Ægean, mindful of the day
Won half by blunder, half by treachery :
Oh dull Saint Helen! with thy jailer nigh
Hear! hear Prometheus* from his rock appeal
To earth, air, ocean, all that felt or feel
His power and glory, all who yet shall hear
A name eternal as the rolling year;
He teaches them the lesson taught so long,
So oft, so vainly-learn to do no wrong!
A single step into the right had made
This man the Washington of worlds betray'd:
A single step into the wrong has given
His name a doubt to all the winds of heaven;
The reed of Fortune, and of thrones the rod,
Of fame the Moloch or the demigod;
His country's Cæsar, Europe's Hannibal,
Without their decent dignity of fall.
Yet Vanity herself had better taught
A surer path even to the fame he sought,
By pointing out on history's fruitless page
Ten thousand conquerors for a single sage.
While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to heaven,
Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven,
Or drawing from the no less kindled earth
Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth;
While Washington's a watchword such as ne'er
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air:
While even the Spaniard's thirst of gold and war
Forgets Pizarro to shout Bolivar !
Alas! why must the same Atlantic wave
Which wafted freedom gird a tyrant's grave-
The king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave,
Who bursts the chains of millions to renew
The very fetters which his arm broke through,
And crush'd the rights of Europe and his own,
To flit between a dungeon and a throne?
But 'twill not be the spark's awaken'd-lo!
The swarthy Spaniard feels his former glow;
The same high spirit which beat back the Moor
Through eight long ages of alternate gore
Revives-and where? in that avenging clime
Where Spain was once synonymous with crime,
Of Salamis !-there, there the waves arise,
Not to be lull'd by tyrant victories.
Lone, lost, abandon'd in their utmost need
By Christians, unto whom they gave their creed,
The desolated lands, the ravaged isle,
The foster'd feud encouraged to beguile,
The aid evaded, and the cold delay,
Prolong'd but in the hope to make a prey ;—
These, these shall tell the tale, and Greece can
The false friend worse than the infuriate foe,
But this is well: Greeks only should free Greece
Not the Barbarian, with his mask of peace.
How should the autocrat of bondage be
The king of serfs, and set the nations free?
Better still serve the haughty Mussulman,
Than swell the Cossack's prowling caravan;
Better still toil for master's, than await,
The slave of slaves, before a Russian gate,-
Number'd by hordes, a human capital,
A live estate, existing but for thrall,
Lotted by thousands, as a meet reward
For the first courtier in the czar's regard;
While their immediate owner never tastes
His sleep, sans dreaming of Siberia's wastes;
Better succumb even to their own despair,
And drive the camel than purvey the bear.
But not alone within the hoariest clime
Where Freedom dates her birth with that of Time,
And not alone, where, plunged in night, a crowd
Of Incas darken to a dubious cloud,
The dawn revives: renown'd, romantic Spain
Holds back the invader from her soil again.
Not now the Roman tribe nor Punic horde
Demand her fields as lists to prove the sword;
Not now the Vandal or the Visigoth
Pollute the plains, alike abhorring both;
Nor old Pelayo on his mountain rears,
The warlike fathers of a thousand years.
That seed is sown and reap'd, as oft the Moor
Sighs to remember on his dusky'shore.
Long in the peasant's song or poet's page
Has dwelt the memory of Abencerrage;
• I refer the reader to the first address of Prometheus in Eschylus, when The Zegri, and the captive victors, flung [sprung
he is left alone by his attendants, and before the arrival of the Chorus of Sea Nymphs.
Back to the barbarous realm from whence they
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