g Brunswickers and brides:
Who paid for vulgar, with her royal blood,
Drawn from the stem of each Teutonic stud;
Who sent us--so be pardon'd all our faults--
A dozen dukes, some kings, a queen--and Waltz.

But peace to her, her emperor and diet,
Though now transferr'd to Bonaparte's "fiat!"
Back to thy theme--O Muse of motion! say,
How first to Albion found thy Waltz her way?

Borne on thy breath of hyperborean gales
From Hamburg's port (while Hamburg yet had _mails_),
Ere yet unlucky Fame, compelled to creep
To snowy Gottenburg was chill'd to sleep;
Or, starting from her slumbers, deign'd arise,
Heligoland, to stock thy mart with lies;
While unburnt Moscow yet had news to send,
Nor owed her fiery exit to a friend.
She came--Waltz came--and with her certain sets
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,
Delightful 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 off 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!

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