From the first fiddle, set her trembling.

She stops-she listens-can it be?
Alas! in vain her ears would 'scapeit—
It is Di tanti palpiti,'

As plain as English bow can scrape it.
Courage!' however, in she goes,
With her best sweeping country

grace;

When, ah! too true, her worst of foes, Quadrille, there meets her, face to face.

Oh for the lyre, or violin,

Or kit of that gay Muse, Terpsichore, To sing the rage these nymphs were in, Their looks and language, airs and trickery!

There stood Quadrille, with cat-like face

(The bau idéal of French beauty), A band-box thing, all art and lace, Down from her nose-tip to her shoetie.

Her flounces, fresh from VictorineFrom Hippolyte her rouge and hairHer poetry, from Lamartine

Her morals from the Lord knows

where.

And when she danced--so slidingly,

So near the ground she plied her art, You'd swear her mother-earth and she Had made a compact ne'er to part. Her face the while, demure, sedate, No signs of life or motion showing, Like a bright pendule's dial-plateSo still, you'd hardly think 'twas going.

Full fronting her stood Country-Dance

A fresh, frank nymph, whom you
would know

For English, at a single glance-
English all o'er, from top to toe.

A little gauche, 'tis fair to own,

And playing oft the devil with flounces.

'An old English country-dance.

2 Another old English country-dance.

'Ah, did you know how blest we ranged, Ere vile Quadrille usurped the tiddleWhat looks in setting were exchanged,

What tender words in down the middle!

'How many a couple, like the wind, Which nothing in its course controls, Left time and chaperons far behind,

6

And gave a loose to legs and souls!

How matrimony throve-ere stopped By this cold, silent, foot-coquettingHow charmingly one's partner popped The important question in poussetteing!

'While now, alas, no sly advancesNo marriage hints-all goes on badly:

"Twixt Parson Malthus and French dances,

We girls are at a discount sadly. 'Sir William Scott (now Baron Stowell) Declares not half so much is made By licences-and he must know wellSince vile Quadrilling spoiled the trade.'

She ceased-tears fell from every MissShe now had touched the true pathetic :-

One such authentic fact as this,

Is worth whole volumes theoretic.

Instant the cry was 'Country-Dance!' And the maid saw, with brightening face,

The steward of the night advance,

And lead her to her birthright place.

The fiddles, which awhile had ceased, Now tuned again their summons sweet,

And for one happy night at least

Old England's triumph was complete.

SONG.

FOR THE POCO-CURANTE SOCIETY.

To those we love we've drank to-night; But now attend, and stare not, While I the ampler lists recite

Of those for whom-we care not. For royal men, howe'er they frown,

If on their fronts they bear not That noblest gem that decks a crownThe People's Love-we care not. For slavish men who bend beneath A despot yoke, and dare not Pronounce the will, whose very breath Would rend its links-we care not.

For priestly men who covet sway

And wealth, though they declare not, Who point, like finger-posts, the way They never go - we care not.

For martial men who on their sword,
Howe'er it conquers, wear not
The pledges of a soldier's word,

Redeemed and pure-we care not.
For legal men who plead for wrong,

And, though to lies they swear not, Are not more honest than the throng Of those who do-we care not.

For courtly men who feed upon

The land, like grubs, and spare not The smallest leaf where they can sun Their reptile limbs-we care not. For wealthy men who keep their mines In darkness hid, and share not The paltry ore with him who pines In honest want-we care not.

To check young Genius' proud career, The slaves, who now his throne invaded,

Made Criticism his Prime Vizir,

And from that hour his glories faded. Tied down in Legislation's school,

Afraid of even his own ambition, His very victories were by rule, And he was great but by permission.

His most heroic deeds-the same

That dazzled, when spontaneous actions

Now, done by law, seemed cold and tame,

And shorn of all their first attractions.

If he but stirred to take air,

Instant the Vizir's Council sat

'Good Lord! your Highness can't go there

Bless us! your Highness can't de that.'

If, loving pomp, he chose to buy Rich jewels for his diadem"The taste was bad-the price was high

A flower were simpler than a gem.' To please them if he took to flowers'What trifling, what unmeaning things!

Fit for a woman's toilet hours,

But not at all the style for kings.' If, fond of his domestic sphere,

He played no more the rambling comet

'A dull, good sort of man, 'twas clear; But as for great or brave-far from it." Did he then look o'er distant oceans, For realms more worthy to enthrone him?

'Saint Aristotle, what wild notions! Serve a "Ne exeat regno" on him.' At length-their last and worst to doThey round him placed a guard of watchmen

Reviewers, kuaves in brown, or blue Turned up with yellow-chiefly Scotchmen

To dog his footsteps all about,

Like those in Longwood's prisongrounds,

Who at Napoleon's heels rode out,

For fear the Conqueror should break bounds.

Oh, for some champion of his power,

Some ultra spirit, to set free,
As erst in Shakspeare's sovereign hour,
The thunders of his royalty!-
To vindicate his ancient line,

The first, the true, the only one
Of Right eternal and divine

That rules beneath the blessed sun!To crush the rebels, that would cloud His triumphs with restraint or blame, And, honouring even his faults, aloud Re-echo Vive le Roi! quand même ?

FIR Hudson Lowe, Sir Hudson Low, (By name, and ah! by nature so)

As thou art fond of persecutions, Perhaps thou'st read, or heard repeated, How Captain Gulliver was treated

When thrown among the Lilliputians. They tied him down-these little men did

And having valiantly ascended

Upon the Mighty Man's protuberance, They did so strut!-upon my soul, It must have been extremely droll

To see their pigmy pride's exuberance! And how the doughty mannikins Amus'd themselves with sticking pins, And needles in the great man's breeches :

And how some very little things,
That pass'd for Lords, on scaffoldings
Got up, and worried him with
speeches.

Alas, alas! that it should happen
To mighty men to be caught napping!-
Though different, too, these persecu.
tions;

For Gulliver, there, took the nap,
While, here the Nap, oh sad mishap,
Is taken by the Lilliputians!

Whoe'er was in, whoe'er was out,
Whatever statesmen did or said,
If not exactly brought about,

'Twas all, at least, contriv'd by Ned. With NAP, if Russia went to war, 'Twas owing, under Providence, To certain hints Ned gave the Czar(Vide his pamphlet-price, sixpence). If France was beat at Waterloo

As all but Frenchmen think she wasTo Ned, as Wellington well knew, Was owing half that day's applause. Then for his news-no envoy's bag

E'er pass'd so many secrets through it; Scarcely a telegraph could wag

Its wooden finger, but Ned knew it. Such tales he had of foreign plots, With foreign names, one's ear to buzz in!

From Russia, chefs and ofs in lots,

From Poland, owskis by the dozen. When George, alarm'd for England's creed,

Turn'd out the last Whig ministry, And men ask'd Who advis'd the deed? Ned modestly confess'd 'twas he. For though, by some unlucky miss,

He had not downright seen the King, He sent such hints through Viscount This,

To Marquis That, as clench'd the thing. The same it was in science, arts,

The Drama, Books, MS. and printedKean learn'd from Ned his cleverest parts,

And Scott's last work by him was hinted.

Childe Harold in the proofs he read, And, here and there, infus'd some

soul in't