One dame—a daring feat I ween, Wore the rich robes of Scotland’s Queen, And loud, and long, was heard to sigh } Whenever stately glided by, } In harsh and formal Majesty, } Her rival, with a well-starched ruff, And robe of grand brocaded stuff. There Anna Boleyn smiled elate Defying her approaching fate; So blithe she looked, the wise ones said Before her time she’d lost her head: While bluff King Harry, following after, Thought her much younger than her daughter. And she, the serious, sweet Jane Gray, Who better loved to read than play— As Ascham tells us—danced as though She took much pleasure in the show; There with mantilla, flower, and fan, And saucy page behind who ran, And sour duenna in a hoop, Came Spanish maids, a haughty group; Behind them close, with charming song, Did three Tyrolean sisters throng; And in the _chaine_, a Croat did turn A pretty black-capped maid of Berne; Three Nuns demure—pressed hard by railers, (Fresh-water though) a pair of Sailors; A Hollandaise, contrasted well With a Savoyard—his _vielle_ Slung at his back—and when he played, Ye Gods! what doleful noise he made! And Naples sent her peasants there, With sparkling eyes, and jetty hair, And dresses dight with colours gay Such as at _festas_ they display: Thus, once resistless, moved along Bright MALIBRAN, that queen of song! They little thought, who passed her by, And marvelled at her mirthful eye, So full of life and joy was she, That soon the tomb her home must be! And Roman Ladies, chaste and proud, Were mingled in that motley crowd; And witching gipsies fortunes told, The same one theme, to young and old; And Pilgrims with their cockle-shells; And Folly with his cap and bells; And Comus with his cup divine; And Circe, but without her swine; And she who on the willowy shore[2] } Of Carthage, did her love deplore;— } The Muse lacks breath: she can no more. } Through the vast hall the brilliant crowd Roamed gaily, or to music loud Whirled nimble feet, while some apart, Revealed soft secrets of the heart: Full many a fair and dimpled lisper Lent her white ear to Flattery’s whisper, And though in Love’s experience read, Believed the whole the coxcomb said: ’Twas almost true—if true not quite— And who could doubt on such a night?