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 gentlemen, who seek Torments for life, or pleasures for a week; As Love or Hymen your endeavours 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! Waltz, Waltz alone, both legs and arms demands, Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands; Hands which may freely range in public sight Where ne'er before--but--pray "put out the light". Methinks the glare of yonder chandelier Shines much too far, or I am much too near; And true, though strange, Waltz whispers this remark, "My slippery steps are safest in the dark!" But here the Muse with due decorum halts, And lends her longest petticoat to Waltz.