THE WALTZ.

.Hcse of the many-twinkling feet! whose charms*e how extended up from legs to arms;t^Psichore!—too long misdeem’d a maid—j^Pfoackful term—bestow’d but to upbraid—Seuceforth in all the bronze of brightness shine,p 6 least a vestal of the virgin Nine.v ar be from thee and thine the name of prude;

yet triumphant; sneer’d at, unsubdued;

legs must move to conquer as they fly,

J but thy coats are reasonably high;iby breast—if bare enough—requires no shield;aQ ce forth ,—sans armour thou shalt take the

own—impregnable to most assaults,

J, by n 0 t t00 } aW rfully begotten “ Waltz.”

^ a il, nimble nymph! to whom the youngfp, hussar,

j>. e whisker’d votary of waltz and war,

tight devotes, despite of spur and boots:jj^ght unmatch’d since Orpheus and his brutes:

a S spirit-stirring Waltz!—beneath whose ban-a ners

O^odem hero fought for modish manners;q Hounslow’s heath to rival Wellesley’s fame.t°ck’d—fired—and miss’d his man—but gain’d his|r aim;

£r ai l, moving Muse! to whom the fair one’s breastq| v 6s all it can, and bids us take the rest.

.p? * for the flow of Busby, or of Fitz,tjbe latter’s loyalty, the former’s wits,a® energize the object I pursue,”jd give both Belial and his dance their due!

^baperial Waltz! imported from the Rhine4 a *bed for the growth of pedigrees and wine),be thine import from all duty free,

-hock itself be less esteem'd than thee:

* “Glance their many-twinkling feet”— Gray.

To rival Lord Wellesley’s, or his nephew’s, as the reader pleases:—the one gained a pretty woman,t, jj°m he deserved, by fighting for; and the other, has been lighting in the Peninsula many a long day,2 Shrewsbury clock,” without gaining anything in that country but the title of “ the Great Lordand“ Lordwhich savours of profanation, having been hitherto applied only to that being to whombe urns ” for carnage are the rankest blasphemy. It is to be presumed that the general will one daybrn to his Sabine farm; there

“To tame the genius of the stubborn plain,

<2» Almost as quickly as he conquer’d Spain !”

Lord Peterborough conquered continents in a summer; we do more—we contrive both to conquerdlose them in a shorter season. If the “great Lord’s” Cincinnatian progress in agriculture be noJ^dier than the proportional average of time in Pope ’s couplet, it will, according to the farmer’s pro*H), be •• ploughing with dogs.”

*i bye—one of this illustrious person’s new titles is forgotten—it is, however, worth remembering—

dor del mundo !" credUe posteri! If this be tbe appellation annexed by the inhabitants of the^ binsula to the name of a man who has not yet saved them—query, are they worth saving, even in thisodni ** for, according to the mildest modifications of any Christian creed, those three words make th*8 much against them in the next. “ Saviour of the world," quotha!—it were to be wished that he, orhel 0ne e ^ se ’. cou ^l save a corner of it—his country. Yet this stupid misnomer, although it shows theOtp r , COnne xion between superstition and impiety, so far has its use, that it proves there can be little tofrom thoee Catholics (inquisitorial Catholics too) who can confer such an appellation on a Pro-WtS'v 1 su PP° se next year he will be entitled the “Virgin Maryif so, Lord Gsorgo Gordon himselfhlQ have nothing to object to such liberal bastards of our Lady of Babylon*

field;

In some few qualities alike—for hockImproves our cellar— thou our living stock.

The head to hock belongs—thy subtler artIntoxicates alone the heedless heart:

Through the full veins thy gentler poison swims,And wakes to wantonness the willing limbs.

Oh, Germany , how much to the© we owe,

As heaven-bora Pitt can testify below,

Ere cursed confederation made tliee France 's,

And only left us thy d-d debts and dances!

Of subsidies and Hanover bereft,

We bless thee still—for George the Third itleft!

Of kings the best—and last, not least in worth,

For graciously begetting George the Fourth.

To Germany , and highnesses serene,

Who owe us millions—don’t we owe the Queen ?To Germany , what owe we not besides ?

So oft bestowing 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 her faults—

A dozen dukes, some kings, a queen—and Waltz.

But peace to her—her emperor and diet,

Though now transferr'd to Buonaparte’s “fiat!”Back to my theme—0 Muse of Motion! say,

How first to Albion found thy Waltz her way ?

Borne on the breath of hyperborean gales,

From Hamburg ’s port (while Hamburg yet hadmails)

Ere yet unlucky fame—compell'd to creepTo snowy Gottenburg—was chill'd to sleop;

Or, starting from her slumbers, deign’d arise,Heligoland , to stock thy mart with lies;