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She cube-Waltz came and with her certain sets Can aught from cold Kamscatka to Cape Horn
Of trie despatches, and as true gazettes;

With Waltz compare, or after waltz be borne ?
Then flamed of Austerlitz the blest despatch, Ah no! from Morier's pages down to Galt's,
Which Moniteur nor Morning Post can match: Each tourist pens a paragraph for " Waltz."
And-almost crush'd beneath the glorious news
Ten plays, and forty tales of Kotzebue's;

Shades of those belles whose reign began of yore,
One envoy's letters, six composers' airs,

With George the Third's-and ended long before ! And loads from Frankfort and from Leipsic fairs ; Though in your daughters' daughters vet you thrive. Meiner's four volumes upon womankind,

Burst from your lead, and be yourselves alive! Like Lapland witches to ensure a wind;

Back to the ball-room speed your spectred host; Brunck's heaviest tome for ballast, and, to back it,

kit, Fool's Paradise is dull to that you lost. Of Heyne, such as should not sink the packet.

No treacherous powder bids conjecture quake; Fraught with this cargo-and her fairest freight,

No stiff-starch'd stays make meddling fingers ache; Deligthful Waltz, on tiptoe for a mate,

(Transferr'd to those anbiguous things that ape The welcome vessel reach'd the genial strand,

Goats in their visage, * women in their shape;) And round her flock'd the daughters of the land.

No damsel faints when rather closely press’d, Not decent David, when, before the ark,

But more caressing seems when most caress'd; His grand pas-seul excited some remark;

Superfluous hartshorn, and reviving salts,
Not love-lorn Quixote, when his Sancho thought

Both banish'd by the sovereign cordial “Waltz.”
The knight's fandango, friskier than it ought;
Not soft Herodias, when with winning tread
Her nimble feet danced of another's head; Seductive Waltz!-though on thy native shore
Not Cleopatra on her galley's deck,

Even Werter's self proclaim'd thee half a whore;
Display'd so much of leg, or more of neck,

Werter-to decent vice though much inclined, Than thou, ambrosial Waltz, when first the moon Yet warm, not wanton; dazzled, but not blind Beheld thee twirling to a Saxon tune!

Though gentle Genlis, in her strife with Stael,

Would even proscribe thee from a Paris ball;
To you, ye husbands of ten years ! whose brows The fashion hails from countesses to queens,
Ache with the annual tributes of a spouse; And maids and valets waltz behind the scenes ;
To you of nine years less, who only bear

Wide and more wide thy witching circle spreads,
The budding sprouts of those that you shall wear,

And turns—if nothing elsewat least our heads; With added ornaments around them roll'd

With thee even clumsy cits attempt to bounce, Of native brass, or law-awarded gold;

And cockneys practice what they can't pronounce. To you, ye matrons, ever on the watch

Gods! how the glorious theme my strain exalts, To mar a son's, or make a daughter's match:

Andrhyme finds partner rhyme in praise of “Waltz!" To you, ye children of-whom chance accords

Blest was the time Waltz chose for her debut; Always the ladies, and sometimes their lords ; The court, the Regent, like herself were new;t To you, ye single gentlemen, who seek

New face for friends, for foes some new rewards ; Torments for life, or pleasures for a week; .

New ornaments for black and royal guards; As Love or Hymen your endeavors guide,

New laws to hang the rogues that roar'd for bread; To gain your own, or snatch another's bride ; New coins (most new I) to follow those that filed; To one and all the lovely stranger came,

New victories-nor can we prize them less, And every ball-room echoes with her name.

Though Jenky wonders at his own success;

New wars, because the old succeed so well,
Endearing Waltz !-to thy more melting tune

That most survivors envy those who fell;
Bow Irish jig and ancient rigadoon.
Scotch reels, avaunt! and country-dance, forego
Your future claims to each fantastic toe!

* 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 aro 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;

Much may be and hath been avouched on both sides. In the olden time Hands which may freely range in public sight 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 bis chin, which neither the Methinks the glare of yonder chandelier

Empress Sabina nor even the courtiers could abide) --Turenne had whiskers, Shines much too far-or I am much too near :

Marlborough none Buonaparte is unwhiskered, the Regent whiskered;

"argal" greatness of mind and whiskers may or may not go jogether: but And true, though strange-Waltz whispers this

certainly the different occurrences, since the growth of the last mentionel, go remark,

further in behalf of whiskers than the anathema of Anselm dic against long “ My slippery steps are safest in the dark !”

hair in the reign of Henry 1.

Formerly red was a favorite color. See Lodowick Barrey's comedy of Ram But here the muse with due decorum halts,

Alley, 1661, Act I. Scene I. And lends her longest petticoat to Waltz.

Taffeta. Now, for a wager-What colored beard comes next by the

window? Observant travellers of every time!

Adriano. A black man's, I think.

« Taffeta. I think not so ; 1 think a red, for that is most in fashion." Ye quartos publish'd upon every clime!

There is nothing new under the sun;" but red, then a favorite, has O say, shall dull Romaika's heavy round,

now subsided into a favorite's color. Fandango's wriggle, or Bolero's bound;

† 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.) Can Egypt's Almas*-tantalizing group

Waltz was not so much in vogue till the Regent attained the acme of his popColumbia's caperers to the warlike whoop

ularity. Waltz, the comet, whiskers, and the new government, illuminated

beaven and earth, in all their glory, much about the same time: of these tho 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 ninepencem creditable coin now forthcoming. * Dancing girlsm-who do for hire what Waltz doth gratis.

worth a pound, in paper, at the fairest calculatior.


New mistresses-nu, old-and yet 'tis true, Till some might marvel with the modest Turk,
Though they be old, the thing is something new; If “nothing follows all this palming work ?"*
Each new, quite new-(except some ancient tricks,*) True, honest Mirza !-you may trust my rhyme
New white-sticks, gold-sticks, broom-sticks, all Something does follow at a fitter time;
new sticks!

The breast thus publicly resign'd to man,
With vests or ribands—deck'd alike in hue, In private may resist him- if it can.
New troopers strut, new turncoats blush in blue:
So saith the muse-my ,t what say you ?

10 ye who loved our grandmothers of yore, Such was the time when Waltz might best maintain Fitzpatrick, Sheridan, and many more! Her new preferments in this novel reign;

And thou, my prince! whose sovereign taste and Such was the time, nor ever yet was such;

will Hoops are no more, and petticoats not much;

It is to love the lovely beldames still ! Morals and minuets, virtue and her stays,

Thou ghost of Queensbury! whose judging sprite And tell-tale powder-all have had their days.

Satan may spare to peep a single night, The ball begins--the honors of the house

Pronounce-if ever in your days of bliss First duly done by daughter or by spouse,

Asmodeus struck so bright a stroke as this; Some potentate-or royal or serene

[mien, To teach the young ideas how to rise, With Kent's gay grace, or sapient Gloucester's (Flush in the cheek and languish in the eyes, Leads forth the ready dame, whose rising flush

Rush to the heart and lighten through the frame, Might once have been mistaken for a blush.

With half-told wish and illoạissembled flame; From where the garb just leaves the bosom free, For prurient nature still will storm the breastThat spot where heartsI were once supposed to be; Who, tempted thus, can answer for the rest? Round all the confines of the yielded waist, The strangest hand may wander undisplaced ;

But ye—who never felt a single thought The lady's in return may grasp as much

For what our morals are to be or ought; As princely paunches offer to her touch.

Who wisely wish the charms you view to reap, Pleased round the chalky floor how well they trip, One hand reposing on the royal hip:

Say-would you make those beauties quite so cheap / The other to the shoulder no less royal

Hot from the hands promiscuously applied, Ascending with affection truly loyal !

Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side, Thus front to front the partners move or stand,

Where were the rapture then to clasp the form

From this lewd grasp and lawless contact warm? The foot may rest, but none withdraw the hand; :

At once love's most endearing thought resign, And all in turn may follow in their rank,

To press the hand so press'd by none but thine; The Earl of Asterisk-and Lady-Blank;

To gaze upon that eye which never met Sir Such-a-one-with those of fashion's bost,

Another's ardent look without regret; For whose blest surnames-vide “ Morning Post;"

Approach the lip which all, without restraint, (Or if for that impartial print too late, [date,)

Come near enough-if not to touch-to taint; Search Doctors' Commons six months from mye

why If such thou lovest-love her then no more, Thus all and each, in movement soft or slow,

Or give-like her--caresses to a score; The genial contact gently undergo ; :

Her mind with these is gone, and with it go

The little left behind it to bestow. • "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 I suspect without cause, why thenVoluptuous Waltz! and dare I thus blaspheme? make sport at me; then let me be your jest; I deserve it. How now?

Thy bard forgot thy praises were his theme. whither bear you this ? " Mrs. Ford. What have you to do whither they bear it !-you were

!-at e best meddle with buck-washing."

My wife now waltzes-and my daughters shall; † The gentle, or ferocious reader, may fill up the blank as he pleases

ral dissyllabic namee nt his service, (being already in the Re. My son-(or stop—'tis needless to inquire gent's:) it would not be fair to back any peculiar initial against the alphabet, These little accidents should ne'er transpire; as every month will add to the list now entered for the sweepstakes : a dis. Some ages hence our genealogic tree tinguished consonant is said to be the favorite, much against the wishes of the knowing ones.

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, Asredoeus 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;

• In Turkey a pertinent, here an impertinent and superfluous quention ville a man of solid stone-only to be opened by force and when divided, you

literally put, as in the text, by a Dersian to Morier ou seeing a waltz in Pera discover a toad in the centre, lively, and with the reputation of being ven.

1-Vida Morier's Travela.




“ Impar Congresowe Achill."



(And desolation; while his native Greece THE “good old times "--all times when old are Hath all of desolation save its peace. good

He "wept for worlds to conquer !” he who ne'er Are gone: the present might be if they would; Conceived the globe, he panted not to spare ! Great things have been, and are, and greater still

till With even the busy Northern Islé unknown, Want little of mere mortals but their will;

Which holds his urn, and never knew his throne. 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

But where is he, the modern, mightier far,

Who, born no king, made monarchs draw his car ; Have wept enough--for what ?-to weep again.

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, All is exploded-be it good or bad.

Chain'd to the chariot of the chieftain's state? Reader! remember when thou wert a lad,

Yes! where is he, the champion and the child Then Pitt was all ; or, if not all, so much, Of all that's great or little, wise or wild ? His very rival almost deem'd him such.

Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were We, we have seen the intellectual race

thrones? Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face

Whose table earth-whose dice were human bones? Athos and Ida, with a dashing sea

Behold the grand result in yon lone isle,
Of eloquence between, which flow'd all free, And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile.
As the deep billows of the Ægean roar

Sigh to behold the eagle's lofty rage
Betwixt theHellenic and the Phrygian shore; Reduced to nibble at his narrow cage;
But where are they—the rivals ?-a few feet Smile to survey the queller of the nations
Of sullen earth divide each winding sheet. Now daily squabbling o'er disputed rations;
How peaceful and how powerful is the grave Weep to perceive him mourning, as he dines,
Which hushes all! a calm, unstormy wave

O'er curtail'd dishes and o’er stinted wines;
Which oversweeps the world. The theme is old O'er petty quarrels upon petty things.
Of “ Dust to dust;” but half its tale untold: Is this the man who scourged or feasted kings?
Time tempers not its terrors-still the worm

Behold the scales in which his fortune hangs, Winds its cold folds, the tomb preserves its form, A surgeon's statement, and an earl's harangues Varied above, but still alike below;

A bust delay'd, a book refused, can shake The urn may shine, the ashes will not glow, The sleep of him who kept the world awake. Though Cleopatra's mummy cross the sea

Is this indeed the tamer of the great, O’er which from empire she lured Antony; Now slave of all could tease or irritateThough Alexander's urn a show be grown, The palty jailer and the prying spy, On shores he wept to conquer, though unknown The staring stranger with his note-book nigh? How vain, how worse than vain, at length appear Plunged in a dungeon, he had still been great; The madman's wish, the Macedonian's tear ! How low, how little was this middle state, He wept for worlds to conquer-half the earth Between a prison and a palace, where Knows not his name, or but his death, and birth, How few could feel for what he had to bear!

Vain his complaint, my lord presents his bill, Ye Alps, which view'd him in his dawning flights
His food and wine were doled out duly still: | Hover, the victor of a hundred fights !
Vain was his sickness, never was a clime

Thou Rome, who saw'st thy Cæsar's deeds outdone So free from homicide-to doubt's a crime;

Alas! why past he too the Rubicon-
And the stiff surgeon, who maintain'd his cause, The Rubicon of man's awaken'd rights,
Hath lost his place, and gain'd the world's applause. To herd with vulgar kings and parasites ?
But smile-though all the pangs of brain and heart Egypt! from whose all dateless tombs arose
Disdain, defy, the tardy aid of art:

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, A new Cambyses thundering in their ear;
None stand by his low bed-though even the mind While the dark shades of forty ages stood
Be wavering, which long awed and awes mankind; Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood ;
Smile--for the fetter'd eagle breaks his chain, Or from the pyramid's tall pinnacle
And higher worlds than this are his again. Behold the desert peopled, as from hell,

With clashing hosts, who strew'd the barren sand

To re-manure the uncultivated land! How, if that soaring spirit still retain

Spain! which, a moment mindless of the Cid,

Behold his banner flouting thy Madrid ! A conscious twilight of his blazing reign,

Austria! which saw thy twice-ta'en capital How must he smile, on looking down, to see

Twice spared, to be the traitress of his fall! The little that he was and sought to be!

Ye race of Frederic ! Frederic but in name What though his name a wider empire found

And falsehood-heirs to all except his fame; Than his ambition, though with scarce a bound;

Who, crush'd at Jena, crouch'd at Berlin, fell Though first in glory, deepest in reverse,

First, and but rose to follow! Ye who dwell He tasted empire's blessings and its curse;

Where Kosciusko dwelt, remembering yet Though kings, rejoicing in their late escape

The unpaid amount of Catherine's bloody debt! From chains, would gladly be their tyrant's ape:

Poland! o'er which the avenging angel past, How must he smile, and turn to yon lone grave,

But left thee as he found thee, still a waste, The proudest sea-mark that o'ertops the wave!

Forgetting all thy still enduring claim, What though his jailer, duteous to the last,

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,

That sound that crashes in the tyrant's ear-
To date the birth and death of all it hid;

Kosciusko! On--on-on-the thirst of war
That name shall hallow the ignoble shore,
A talisman to all save him who bore;

Gasps for the gore of serfs, and of their czar.

The half barbaric Moscow's minarets The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast

Gleam in the sun, but 'tis a sun that sets ! Shall hear their sea-boys hail it from the mast;

Moscow! thou limit of his long career, When Victory's Gallic column shall but rise,

For which rude Charles had wept his frozen tear Like Pompey's pillar, in a desert's skies,

To see in vain-he saw thee-how? with spire The rocky isle that holds or held his dust

And palace fuel to one common fire Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero's bust,

To this the soldier lent his kindling match, And mighty nature o'er his obsequies

To this the peasant gave his cottage thatch, Do more than niggard envy still denies.

To this the merchant flung his hoarded store, But what are these to him ? Can glory's lust

The prince his hall-and Moscow was no more ! Touch the freed spirit or the fetter'd dust?

Sublimest of volcanos! Etna's flame Small care hath he of what his tomb consists ;

Pales before thine, and quenchless Hecla’s tame; Nought if he sleeps--nor more if he exists :

Vesuvius shows his blaze, an usual sight Alike the better-seeing Shade will smile

For gaping tourists, from his hackney'd height: On the rude cavern of the rocky isle,

Thou stand'st alone unrivall’d, till the fire As if his ashes found their latest home

To come, in which all empires shall expire! In Rome's Pantheon or Gaul's mimic dome.

Thou other element! as strong and stern, He wants not this; but France shall feel the want

To teach a lesson conquerors will not learn! Of this last consolation, though so scant;

Whose icy wing flapp'd o'er the faltering foe, Her honor, fame, and faith demand his bones,

Till fell a hero with each flake of snow; To rear above a pyramid of thrones;

How did thy numbing beak and silent fang Or carried onward in the battle's van,

Pierce, till hosts perish'd with a single pang; To form, like Guesclin's * dust, her talisman.

In vain shall Seine look up along his banks But be it as it is--the time may come

For the gay thousands of his dashing ranks!
His name shall beat the alarm, like Ziska's drum.

In vain shall France recall beneath her vines
Her youth - their blood flows faster than her

Oh heaven! of which he was in power a feature; Or stagnant in their human ice remains
Oh earth! of which he was a noble creature;

In frozen mummies on the Polar plains.
Thou isle! to be remember'd long and well, In vain will Italy's broad sun awaken
That saw'st the unfledg'd eaglet chip his shell !

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 keys in

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.

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Lutzen, where fell the Swede of victory,

Where Cortes' and Pizarro's banner flew, Beholds him conquer, but, alas! not die;

The infant world redeems her name of “ New." Dresden surveys tliree despots fly once more 'Tis the old aspiration breathed afresh, Before their sovereign,-sovereign as before; To kindle souls within degraded flesh, But there exhausted Fortune quits the field, Such as repulsed the Persian from the shore And Leipsic's treason bids the unvanquish'd yield; Where Greece was-No! she stillis Greece no more The Saxon jackal leaves the lion's side

One common cause makes myriads of one breast, To turn the bear's, and wolf's, and fox's, guide; Slaves of the east, or helots of the west; And backward to the den of his despair

On Andes' and on Athos' peaks unfurl’d, The forest monarch shrinks, but finds no lair! The self-same standard streams o'er either world; Oh ye ! and each, and all! Oh France! who found | The Athenian wears again Harmodius' sword; Thy long fair fields, plough'd up as hostile ground, | |The Chili chief abjures his foreign lord; Disputed foot by foot, till treason, still

The Spartan knows himself once more a Greek, His only victor, from Montmartre's hill

Young Freedom plumes the crest of each cacique; Look'd down o'er trambled Paris ! and thou Isle, Debating despots, hemm'd on either shore, Which seest Etruria from thy ramparts smile, Shrink vainly from the roused Atlantic's roar; Thou momentary shelter of his pride,

Through Calpe's strait the rolling tides adyance, Till woo'd by danger, his yet weeping bride! Sweep lightly by the half-tamed land of France, Oh France ! retaken by a single march,

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:

Of Salamis !—there, there the waves arise,
Oh dull Saint Helen! with thy jailer nigh

Not to be lull’d by tyrant victories.
Hear! hear Prometheus* from his rock appeal Lone, lost, abandon'd in their utmost need
To earth, air, ocean, all that felt or feel

By Christians, unto whom they gave their creed,
His power and glory, all who yet shall hear The desolated lands, the ravaged isle,
A name eternal as the rolling year;

The foster'd feud encouraged to beguile, He teaches them the lesson taught so long,

The aid evaded, and the cold delay, So oft, so vainly-learn to do no wrong!

Prolong'd but in the hope to make a prey ;A single step into the right had made

These, these shall tell the tale, and Greece can This man the Washington of worlds betray'd :

show A single step into the wrong has given

The false friend worse than the infuriate foe, His name a doubt to all the winds of heaven; But this is well: Greeks only should free Greece The reed of Fortune, and of thrones the rod, Not the Barbarian, with his mask of peace. Of fame the Moloch or the demigod;

How should the autocrat of bondage be His country's Cæsar, Europe's Hannibal,

The king of serfs, and set the nations free? Without their decent dignity of fall.

Better still serve the haughty Mussulman, Yet Vanity herself had better taught

Than swell the Cossack's prowling caravan;
A surer path even to the fame he sought,

Better still toil for master's, than await,
By pointing out on history's fruitless page The slave of slaves, before a Russian gate,
Ten thousand conquerors for a single sage. Number'd by hordes, a human capital,
While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to heaven, A live estate, existing but for thrall,
Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven, Lotted by thousands, as a meet reward
Or drawing from the no less kindled earth

For the first courtier in the czar's regard;
Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth; While their immediate owner never tastes
While Washington's a watchword such as ne'er His sleep, sans dreaming of Siberia's wastes;
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air :

Better succumb even to their own despair,
While even the Spaniard's thirst of gold and war And drive the camel than purvey the bear.
Forgets Pizarro to shout Bolivar !
Alas! why must the same Atlantic wave
Which wafted freedom gird a tyrant's grave

But not alone within the hoariest clime
The king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave,

Where Freedom dates her birth with that of Time, Who bursts the chains of millions to renew

And not alone, where, plunged in night, a crowd The very fetters which his arm broke through,

Of Incas darken to a dubious cloud, And crush'd the rights of Europe and his own,

The dawn revives : renown'd, romantic Spain l'o flit between a dungeon and a throne ?

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;
But 'twill not be the spark's awaken'd-lo! Not now the Vandal or the Visigoth
The swarthy Spaniard feels his former glow; Pollute the plains, alike abhorring both;
The same high spirit which beat back the Moor Nor old Pelayo on his mountain rears,
Through eight long ages of alternate gore

The warlike fathers of a thousand years. Revives—and where? in that avenging clime That seed is sown and reap'd, as oft the Moor Where Spain was once synonymous with crime,

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 Æschylus, 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

** Back to the barbarous realm from whence they Nymphs.


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