Terpsichore ruled with unlimited sway, While, moment by moment, the night wore away. To me, 'twas an agony sadly prolonged, To stay in that parlor, so heated and thronged, And witness the sickening, senseless parade, Which people, who claimed to be sensible, made. I stood it as long as I could, and as well, And struggled my rising emotions to quell, But hotter my blood momentarily grew, Till objects about me were changing their hue, And, just as my brain was beginning to totter, I rushed from the room for some air and some water. Returning refreshed, my composure resumed, I awaited the end, like a criminal doomed. With one demoiselle I essayed to converse, Whose sense I discovered was not worth a--purse. Disgusted with one so insipidly brainless, I turned from a task that was tedious and gainless, Adapted myself to my strange situation, And buried my mind in profound cogitation. O Fashion, thou tyrant! adored as a god, By such as obey thy imperious nod-- How mortals their 'sweet independence' resign, When all that is precious they bring to thy shrine! Thy altar they grace with the fruit of their lives, Themselves and their fortunes, till nothing survives To prove to the world that they ever were free;-- Their souls and their bodies they offer to thee. And thou! how unworthy thou art of their trust! Thou givest them nought but a damnable lust Of silly, deceitful, contemptible show-- A lust that is stronger as older they grow. For this they surrender their faith and their truth, The artless, ingenuous goodness of youth, The strength that belongs to maturity's years: Exchanging their peace for the paltriest fears, Lest something, they happen to do or to say, Should not be considered exactly _au fait_; Or lest their attempts should be wholly surpassed By others who claim to belong to their _caste_. Thy fiat, O Fashion, their questions decides; Thy wisdom all needed direction provides For spending their time in genteel dissipations, For cutting their garments, and--poorer relations. Controlled by thy will, they select their society; Thou art their instructor in manners and piety. And thus they obey the decrees of a power, To which, in a servile allegiance, they cower-- A power that binds them in thraldom, and then Makes puppets of women and puppies of men. Reflections like these were absorbing my mind, As I sat on the sofa, or partly reclined, While promiscuous edibles recently 'bolted,' In assiduous dancing were carelessly jolted.