[3]
The Ball-room opens--far and nigh
Comets and suns beneath us lie;
O'er snow-white moons and stars we walk,
And the floor seems one sky of chalk!
But soon shall fade that bright deceit,
When many a maid, with busy feet
That sparkle in the lustre's ray,
O'er the white path shall bound and play
Like Nymphs along the Milky Way:--
With every step a star hath fled,
And suns grow dim beneath their tread,
So passeth life--(thus Scott would write,
And spinsters read him with delight,)--
Hours are not feet, yet hours trip on,
Time is not chalk, yet time's soon gone!
But, hang this long digressive flight!--
I meant to say, thou'lt see that night
What falsehood rankles in their hearts,
Who say the Prince neglects the arts--
Neglects the arts?--no, Strahlweg,[4] no;
_Thy_ Cupids answer "'tis not so;"
And every floor that night shall tell
How quick thou daubest and how well.
Shine as thou mayst in French vermilion,
Thou'rt _best_ beneath a French cotillion;
And still comest off, whate'er thy faults,
With _flying colors_ in a Waltz.
Nor needest thou mourn the transient date
To thy best works assigned by fate.
While _some chef-d'oeuvres_ live to weary one,
_Thine_ boast a short life and a merry one;
Their hour of glory past and gone
With "Molly put the kettle on!"[5]
But, bless my soul! I've scarce a leaf
Of paper left--so must be brief.
Pages:
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049