LXXII.

Take care he don't revenge himself, though dead, As Nessus did of old beyond all cure;

I don't know if the fact you've heard or read, But he will make you burst, you may be sure.»> « But help him on my back,» Morgante said,

« And you shall see what weight I can endure: In place, my gentle Roland, of this palfrey, With all the bells, I'd carry yonder belfry.»> LXXII.

The abbot said, « The steeple may do well,

But, for the bells, you 've broken them, I wot.»> Morgante answer'd, « Let them pay in hell

The penalty, who lie dead in yon grot:»
And hoisting up the horse from where he fell,
He said, « Now look if I the gout have got,
Oriando, in the legs-or if I have force;»-
And then he made two gambols with the horse.
LXXIV.

Morgante was like any mouutain framed;
So if he did this, 't is no prodigy;
But secretly himself Orlando blamed,

Because he was one of his family;

And, fearing that he might be hurt or maim'd,
Once more he bade him lay his burthen by:

« Put down, nor bear him further the desert in.»> Morgante said, «< I'll carry him for certain.»>

And said with great respect, he had agreed To leave his Reverence; but for this decision He wish'd to have his pardon and permission. LXXVI.

The honours they continued to receive

Perhaps exceeded what his merits claim'd: He said, «I mean, and quickly, to retrieve

The lost days of time past, which may be blamed; Some days ago I should have ask'd your leave,

Kind father, but I really was ashamed, And know not how to show my sentiment, So much I see you with our stay content.

LXXVII.

<< But in my heart I bear through every clime, The abbot, abbey, and this solitude

So much I love you in so short a time;

For me, from heaven reward you with all good The God so true, the eternal Lord sublime!

Whose kingdom at the last hath open stood: Meanwhile we stand expectant of your blessing, And recommend us to your prayers with pressing.» LXXVIII.

Now when the abbot Count Orlando heard,
His heart grew soft with inner tenderness,
Such fervour in his bosom bred each word;
And, «Cavalier,» he said, «< if I have less
Courteous and kind to your great worth appear'd,
Than fits me for such gentle blood to express,

I know I've done too little in this case;
But blame our ignorance, and this poor place.

LXXIX.

We can indeed but honour you with masses,
And sermons, thanksgivings, and pater-nosters,
Hot
suppers, dinners (fitting other places

In verity much rather than the cloisters);
But such a love for you my heart embraces,

For thousand virtues which your bosom fosters, That wheresoe'er you go, I too shall be,

And, on the other part, you rest with me.

"

LXXX.

This may involve a seeming contradiction, But you, I know, are sage, and feel, and taste, And understand my speech with full conviction. For your just pious deeds may you be graced With the Lord's great reward and benediction, By whom you were directed to this waste: To his high mercy is our freedom due, For which we render thanks to him and you. LXXXI.

«You saved at once our life and soul: such fear The giants caused us, that the way was lost By which we could pursue a fit career

In search of Jesus and the saintly host; And your departure breeds such sorrow here,

That comfortless we all are to our cost; But months and years you could not stay in sloth, Nor are you form'd to wear our sober cloth;

LXXXII.

<< But to bear arms and wield the lance; indeed,
With these as much is done as with this cowl;
In proof of which the scripture you may read.
This giant up to heaven may bear his soul
By your compassion; now in peace proceed.

Your state and name I seek not to unroll, But, if I'm ask'd, this answer shall be given, That here an angel was sent down from heaven.

LXXXII.

<< If you want armour or aught else, go in, Look o'er the wardrobe, and take what you chuse ; And cover with it o'er this giant's skin.»>

Orlando answer'd, « If there should lie loose
Some armour, ere our journey we begin,

Which might be turn'd to my companion's use,
The gift would be acceptable to me.»
The abbot said to him, «Come in and see.»
LXXXIV.

And in a certain closet, where the wall

Was cover'd with old armonr like a crust,
The abbot said to them, « I give you all.»>

Morgante rummaged piece-meal from the dust
The whole, which, save one cuirass, was too small,
And that too had the mail inlaid with rust.
They wonder'd how it fitted him exactly,
Which ne'er had suited others so compactly.
LXXXV.

T was an immeasurable giant's, who
By the great Milo of Argante fell
Before the abbey many years ago.

The story on the wall was figured well;
In the last moment of the abbey's foe,

Who long had waged a war implacable: Precisely as the war occurr'd they drew him, And there was Milo as he overthrew him.

WALTZ.

MUSE of the many-twinkling feet!3 whose charms
Are now extended up from legs to arms;
TERPSICHORE!-too long misdeem'd a maid-
Reproachful term-bestow'd but to upbraid-
Henceforth in all the bronze of brightness shine,
The least a vestal of the virgin Nine.

Far be from thee and thine the name of prude;
Mock'd, yet triumphant; sneer'd at, unsubdued;
Thy legs must move to conquer as they fly,
If but thy coats are reasonably high;
Thy breast-if bare enough-requires no shield;
Dance forth-sans armour thou shalt take the field,
And own-impregnable to most assaults,

Thy not too lawfully begotten « Waltz.>>

Hail nimble nymph! to whom the young hussar, The whisker'd votary of waltz and warHis night devotes, despite of spur and boots, A sight unmatch'd since Orpheus and his brutes: Hail, spirit-stirring Waltz!-beneath whose banners A modern hero fought for modish manners; On Hounslow's heath to rival Wellesley's4 fame, Cock'd-fired—and miss'd his man-but gain'd his aim. Hail moving muse! to whom the fair one's breast Gives all it can, and bids us take the rest. Oh! for the flow of Busby, or of Fitz, The latter's loyalty, the former's wits, To« energise the object I pursue,»

And give both Belial and his dance their due!—

Imperial Waltz! imported from the Rhine (Famed for the growth of pedigrees and wine), Long be thine import from all duty free, And hock itself be less esteem'd than thee; In some few qualities alike-for hock Improves our cellar-thou our living stock. The head to hock belongs-thy subtler art Intoxicates alone the heedless heart:

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

Oh, Germany! how much to thee we owe,
As heaven-born Pitt can testify below;
Ere cursed confederation made thee 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 is left!
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 Bonaparte's «fiat;>> Back to my theme-O 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 had mails)
Ere yet unlucky fame-compell'd 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 Moscows yet had news to send,
Nor owed her fiery exit to a friend,

She came Waltz came-and with her certain sets
Of true dispatches, and as true gazettes:
Then flamed of Austerlitz the blest dispatch
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 composer's 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 Heyné, 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.

Shades of those belles, whose reign began of yore,
With George the Third's-and ended long before-
Though in your daughters' daughters yet you thrive,
Burst from your lead, and be yourselves alive!
Back to the ball-room speed your spectred host:
Fool's paradise is dull to that you lost.

No treacherous powder bids conjecture quake;
No stiff starch'd stays make meddling fingers ache;
(Transferr'd to those ambiguous things that ape
Goats in their visage,7 women in their shape);
No damsel faints when rather closely press'd,
But more caressing seems when most caress'd;
Superfluous hartshorn, and reviving salts,
Both banish'd by the sovereign cordial, « Waltz.>>

Seductive Waltz!-thongh on thy native shore
Even Werter's self proclaim'd thee half a whore;
Werter-to decent vice though much inclined,
Yet warm, not wanton; dazzled, but not blind-
Though gentle Genlis, in her strife with Stael,
Would even proscribe thee from a Paris ball;
The fashion hails-from countesses to queens,
And maids and valets waltz behind the scenes:
Wide and more wide thy witching circle spreads,
And turns-if nothing else—at least our heads :
With thee even clumsy cits attempt to bounce,
And cockneys practise what they can't pronounce.
Gods! how the glorious theme my strain exalts,
And rhyme finds partner rhyme in praise of «"

Waltz.≫

Blest was the time Waltz chose for her début :
The court, the R--t. like herself were new;
New face for friends, for foes some new rewards,
New ornaments for black and royal guards;
New laws to hang the rogues that roar'd for bread;
New coins (most new)9 to follow those that fled;
New victories-nor can we prize them less,
Though Jenky wonders at his own success;
New wars, because the old succeed so well,
That most survivors envy those who fell;
New mistresses-no, old-and yet 't is true,
Though they be old, the thing is something new;
Each new,
quite new-(except some ancient tricks),10
New white-sticks, gold-sticks, broom - sticks, all new
sticks!

With vests or ribands-deck'd alike in hue,
New troopers strut, new turncoats blush in blue:
So saith the muse-my-1, what say you!
Such was the time when Waltz might best maintain
Her new preferments in this novel reign;
Such was the time, nor ever yet was such,
Hoops are no more, and petticoats not much;
Morals and minuets, virtue and her stays,
And tell-tale powder-all have had their days.

The ball begins-the honours of the house
First duly done by daughter or by spouse,
Some potentate—or royal or serene—

With K-t's gay grace, or sapient G—st-r's mien,
Leads forth the ready dame, whose rising flush
Might once have been mistaken for a blush.
From where the garb just leaves the bosom free,
That spot where hearts were once supposed to be;
Round all the confines of the yielded waist,
The strangest hand may wander undisplaced;
The lady's in return may grasp as much
As princely paunches offer to her touch.
Pleased round the chalky floor how well they trip,
One hand reposing on the royal hip;
The other to the shoulder no less royal
Ascending with affection truly loyal:

Thus front to front the partners move or stand,
The foot may rest, but none withdraw the hand;
And all in turn may follow in their rank,
The Earl of Asterisk-and Lady Blank;
Sir Such a one-with those of fashion's host,
For whose blest surnames-vide« Morning Post;"
(Or if for that impartial print too late,
Search Doctors' Commons six months from my date.
Thus all and each, in movement swift or slow,
The genial contact gently undergo;

Till some might marvel, with the modest Turk,
If nothing follows all this palming work?13
True, honest Mirza-you may trust my rhyme-
Something does follow at a fitter time;
The breast, thus publicly resign'd to man,
in private may resist him-if it can.

O ve! who loved our grandmothers of yore.
F-tz-t-k, Sh-r-d-n, and many more!

And thou, my prince, whose sovereign taste and will
It is to love the lovely beldames still;

Thou, ghost of Q- ---! whose judging sprite
Satan may spare to peep a single night,
Pronounce-if ever in your days of bliss,
Asmodeus struck so bright a stroke as this;
To teach the young ideas how to rise,
Flush in the cheek and languish in the eyes;
Bush to the heart and lighten through the frame.
With half-told wish and ill-dissembled flame:
For prurient nature still will storm the breast-
Who, tempted thus, can answer for the rest?

Note 3. Page 503, line 1.

- Glance their many-twinkling feet.”—GRAY.
Note 4. Page 503, line 21.

To rival Lord W.'s, or his nephew's, as the reader pleases: the one gained a pretty woman, whom he deserved, by fighting for; and the other has been fighting in the Peninsula many a long day, «by Shrewsbury clock, without gaining any thing in that country but the title of the Great Lord,» and « the Lord,» which

savours of profanation, having been hitherto applied only to that Being, to whom « Te Deums» for carnage are the rankest blasphemy.-It is to be presumed the general will one day return to his Sabine farm, there

To tame the genius of the stubborn plain, Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain!" The Lord Peterborough conquered continents in a summer; we do more-we contrive both to conquer and lose them in a shorter season. If the « great Lord's» Cincinnatian progress in agriculture be no speedier than the proportional average of time in Pope's couplet, it will, according to the farmer's proverb, be «< ploughing with dogs.»>

By the by-one of this illustrious person's new titles is forgotten-it is, however, worth remembering-« Salvador del mundo!» credite, posteri! If this be the appellation annexed by the inhabitants of the Peninsula to the name of a man who has not yet saved themquery-are they worth saving even in this world? for, according to the mildest modifications of any Christian creed, those three words make the odds much against

them in the next.—« Saviour of the world,» quotha!— it were to be wished that he, or any one else, could save a corner of it—his country. Yet this stupid misnomer, although it shows the near connexion between superstition and impiety, so far has its use, that it proves there can be little to dread from those Catholics (inquisitorial Catholics too) who can confer such an appellation on a Protestant. I suppose next year he will be entitled the « Virgin Mary:» if so, Lord George Gor

don himself would have nothing to object to such liberal bastards of our Lady of Babylon.

Note 5. Page 503, line 65.

The patriotic arson of our amiable allies cannot be sufficiently commended-nor subscribed for. Amongst other details omitted in the various dispatches of our eloquent ambassador, he did not state (being too much occupied with the exploits of Colonel C-, in swimming rivers frozen, and galloping over roads impassable), that one entire province perished by famine in the most melancholy manner, as follows:-In General Rostopchin's consummate conflagration, the consumption of tallow and train oil was so great, that the market was inadequate to the demand and thus one hundred and thirty-three thousand persons were starved to death, by being reduced to wholesome diet! The lamplighters of London have since subscribed a pint (of oil) a piece, and the tallow-chandlers have unanimously voted a

quantity of best moulds (four to the pound) to the relief of the surviving Scythians-the scarcity will soon, by such exertions, and a proper attention to the quality rather than the quantity of provision, be totally alleviated. It is said, in return, that the untouched Ukraine has subscribed sixty thousand beeves for a day's meal to our suffering manufacturers.

Note 6. Page 504, line 5.
Dancing-girls-who do for hire what Waltz doth

gratis.

Note 7. Page 504, line 20.

It cannot be complained now, as in the Lady Baussiere's time, of the « Sieur de la Croix,» that there be «no whiskers;» but how far these are indications of

valour in the field, or elsewhere, may still be question

able.

Much may be and hath been avouched on both sides. In the olden time philosophers had whiskers and soldiers none-Scipio himself was shaven-Hannibal thought his one eye handsome enough without a beard; but Adrian, the Emperor, wore a beard (having warts on his chin, which neither the Empress Sabina, nor even the courtiers could abide)-Turenne had whiskers, Marlborough none-Buonaparte is unwhiskered, the R-- whiskered; « argal,» greatness of mind and whiskers may or may not go together: but certainly the different occurrences, since the growth of the last-mentioned, go further in behalf of whiskers than the anathema of Anselm did against long hair in the reign of Henry I.

Formerly red was a favourite colour. See Lodowick Barrey's comedy of Ram Alley, 1661, act I. scene 1.

Taffeta. Now, for a wager-What coloured beard comes next by the window?

« Adriana. A black man's, I think.

Taffeta. I think not so: I think a red, for that is most in fashion. >>