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"And one of our apostles, Saul once named, Long persecuted sore the faith of Christ, Till one day by the Spirit being inflamed,

Why dost thou persecute me thus ?' said Christ; And then from his offence he was reclaim'd,

And went for ever after preaching Christ;
And of the faith became a trump, whose sounding
O'er the whole earth is echoing and rebounding.

"So, my Morgante, you may do likewise;

He who repents, thus writes the Evangelist,-
Occasions more rejoicing in the skies

Than ninety-nine of the celestial list.
You may be sure, should each desire arise
With just zeal for the Lord, that you'll exist
Among the happy saints for evermore;
But you were lost and damn'd to hell before!"

And thus great honour to Morgante paid
The abbot: many days they did repose.
One day, as with Orlando they both stray'd,

And saunter'd here and there, where'er they chose, The abbot show'd a chamber where array'd

Much armour was, and hung up certain bows;
And one of these Morgante for a whim
Girt on, though useless, he believed, to him.


There being a want of water in the place,
Orlando, like a worthy brother, said,
"Morgante, I could wish you in this case

To go for water." "You shall be obey'd
In all commands" was the reply, "straightway."
Upon his shoulder a great tub he laid,
And went out on his way unto a fountain,
Where he was wont to drink below the mountain.


Arrived there, a prodigious noise he hears,
Which suddenly along the forest spread;
Whereat from out his quiver he prepares

An arrow for his bow, and lifts his head;
And lo! a monstrous herd of swine appears,
And onward rushes with tempestuous tread,
And to the fountain's brink precisely pours,
So that the giant's join'd by all the boars.

Morgante at a venture shot an arrow,

Which pierced a pig precisely in the ear, And pass'd unto the other side quite through, So that the boar, defunct, lay tripp'd up near. Another, to revenge his fellow farrow,

Against the giant rush'd in fierce career,
And reach'd the passage with so swift a foot,
Morgante was not now in time to shoot.

Perceiving that the pig was on him close,
He gave him such a punch upon the head1
As floor'd him, so that he no more arose-
Smashing the very bone; and he fell dead
Next to the other. Having seen such blows,
The other pigs along the valley fled;
Morgante on his neck the bucket took,


The tun was on one shoulder, and there were
The hogs on t' other, and he brush'd apace
On to the abbey, though by no means near,
Nor spilt one drop of water in his race.
Orlando, seeing him so soon appear

With the dead boars, and with that brimful vase,
Marvell'd to see his strength so very great ;-
So did the abbot, and set wide the gate.


The monks, who saw the water fresh and good, Rejoiced, but much more to perceive the pork; All animals are glad at sight of food:

They lay their breviaries to sleep, and work With greedy pleasure, and in such a mood, That the flesh needs no salt beneath their fork; Of rankness and of rot there is no fear, For all the fasts are now left in arrear.


As though they wish'd to burst at once, they ate;
And gorged so that, as if the bones had been
In water, sorely grieved the dog and cat,
Perceiving that they all were pick'd too clean.
The abbot, who to all did honour great,

A few days after this convivial scene,
Gave to Morgante a fine horse well train'd,
Which he long time had for himself maintain❜d.

The horse Morgante to a meadow led,
To'gallop, and to put him to the proof,
Thinking that he a back of iron had,

Or to skim eggs unbroke was light enough;
But the horse, sinking with the pain, fell dead,
And burst, while cold on earth lay head and hoof
Morgante said, "Get up, thou sulky cur!"
And still continued pricking with the spur.

But finally he thought fit to dismount,

And said, "I am as light as any feather, And he has burst-to this what say you, count?"

Orlando answer'd, "Like a ship's mast rather You seem to me, and with the truck for front:Let him go; fortune wills that we together Should march, but you on foot, Morgante, still." To which the giant answer'd, "So I will.


"When there shall be occasion, you shall see How I approve my courage in the fight." Orlando said, "I really think you'll be,

If it should prove God's will, a goodly knight, Nor will you napping there discover me:

But never mind your horse, though out of sight 'T were best to carry him into some wood, If but the means or way I understood."


The giant said, "Then carry him I will,
Since that to carry me he was so slack-
To render, as the gods do, good for ill;

But lend a hand to place him on my back."
Orlando answer'd, "I my counsel still
May weigh, Morgante, do not undertake
To lift or carry this dead courser, who,

Full from the spring which neither swerved nor shook. As you have done to him, will do to you,


"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 your shall see what weight I can endure: In place, my gentle Roland, of this palfrey, With all the bells, I'd carry yonder belfry." LXXIII.

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,
Orlando, in the legs-or if I have force ;"-
And then he made two gambols with the horse.

Morgante was like any mountain 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."


He did; and stow'd him in some nook away,
And to the abbey then return'd with speed.
Orlando said, "Why longer do we stay;
Morgante, here is nought to do indeed."
The abbot by the hand he took one day,
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.


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.


"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;

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."

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


"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.

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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 armour like a crust, The abbot said to them, "I give you all."

Morgante rummaged piecemeal 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 suted others so compactly.

'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 ngured weil;
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.


Secing this history, Count Orlando said
In his own heart "Oh God! who in the sky
Know'st all things, how was Milo hither led,
Who caused the giant in this place to die?"
And certain letters, weeping, then he read,

So that he could not keep his visage dry,-
As I will tell in the ensuing story.

From evil keep you, the high King of Glory!

Note 1. Page 500, line 57.

He gave him such a punch upon the head. "Gli dette in sulla testa un gran punzone." It is strange that Pulci should have literally anticipated the technical terms of my old friend and master, Jackson, and the art which he has carried to its highest pitch. "A punch on the head," or, "a punch in the head," "un punzone in sulla testa," is the exact and frequent phrase of our best pugilists, who little dream that they are talking the purest Tuscan.



Qualis in Eurotæ ripis, aut per juga Cynthi,
Exercet Diana choros.

Such on Eurota's banks, or Cynthia's height,
Diana scems: and so she charms the sight,
When in the dance the graceful goddess leads
The quire of nymphs, and overtops their heads.





saw up and down sort of tune, that reminded me of the "black joke," only more "affettuoso,” till it made me quite giddy with wondering they were not so. By and by they stopped a bit, and I thought they would sit or fall down:-but, no; with Mrs. H.'s hand on his I AM a country gentleman of a midland county. shoulder, "quam familiariter" (as Terence said when might have been a parliament-man for a certain bo-I was at school), they walked about a minute, and then rough, having had the offer of as many votes as at it again, like two cock-chafers spitted on the same General T. at the general election in 1812. But I bodkin. I asked what all this meant, when, with a was all for domestic happiness; as, fifteen years ago, on a visit to London, I married a middle-aged maid of honour. We lived happily at Hornem Hall till last season, when wife and I were invited by the Countess of Waltzaway (a distant relation of my spouse) to pass the winter in town. Thinking no harm, and our girls being come to a marriageable (or as they call it, marketable) age, and having besides a chancery suit inveterately entailed upon the family estate, we came up in our old chariot, of which, by the by, my wife grew so much ashamed in less than a week, that I was


loud laugh, a child no older than our Wilhelmina (a name I never heard but in the Vicar of Wakefield, though her mother would call her after the Princess of Swappenbach), said, "Lord, Mr. Hornem, can't you see they are valtzing," or waltzing (I forget which); and then up she got, and her mother and sister, and away they went, and round-abouted it till supper-time. Now that I know what it is, I like it of all things, and so does Mrs. H. (though I have broken my shins, and four times overturned Mrs. Hornem's maid in practising the preliminary steps in the morning). Indeed, so much do obliged to buy a second-hand barouche, of which 1 I like it, that having a turn for rhyme, tastily displayed might mount the box, Mrs. H. says, if I could drive, in some election ballads, and songs in honour of all the but never see the inside that place being reserved victories (but till lately I have had little practice in that for the Honourable Augustus Tiptoe, her partner- way), I sat down, and with the aid of W. F. Esq., and general and opera-knight. Hearing great praises of a few hints from Dr. B. (whose recitations I attend, and Mrs. H.'s dancing (she was famous for birth-night min-am monstrous fond of Master B.'s manner of delivering uets in the latter end of the last century), I unbooted, his father's late successful D. L. address), I composed and went to a ball at the Countess's, expecting to see the following hymn, wherewithal to make my senta country dance, or, at most, cotillons, reels, and all ments known to the public, whom, nevertheless, I the old paces to the newest tunes. But, judge of heartily despise as well as the critics. my surprise, on arriving, to see poor dear Mrs. Hornem with her arms half round the loins of a huge hussarlooking gentleman I never set eyes on before; and his, to say trutn, rather more than half round her waist, urning round, and round, and round, to a d―d see

I am, Sir, yours, etc., etc.



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's 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" energize 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 dd 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 Buonaparte'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 Moscow' yet had news to send,
Nor owed her fiery exit to a friend,

She came-Waltz came-and with her certain sets
Of true despatches, and as true gazettes;
Then flamed of Austerlitz the blest despatch,
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 composers' airs,
And loads from Frankfort and from Leipsic fairs;
Meiner's four volumes upon womankind,
Like Lapland witches to insure 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 shall wear.
With added ornaments around them roll'd,
Of native brass, or law-awarded gold;


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 accordsAlways 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, foregu 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 remar "My slippery steps are safest in the dark!" But here the muse with due decorum halts, And lends her longest petticoat to Waltz.

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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,' 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!-though 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") 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

With vests or ribands-deck'd alike in hue,

New troopers strut, new turncoats blush in blue:
So saith the muse-my-", 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 12 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 dat?)-
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?"
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.

whose judging sprite

O ye! 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-
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;
Rush 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?

But ye--who never felt a single thought
For what our morals are to be, or ought;
Who wisely wish the charms you view to reap,
Say-would you make those beauties quite so cheap?
Hot from the hands promiscuously applied,
Round the slight waist; or down the glowing side;
Where were the rapture then to clasp the form,
From this lewd grasp, and lawless contact warm?
At once love's most endearing thought resign,
press the hand so press'd by none but thine;
To gaze upon that eye which never met
Another's ardent look without regret ·
Approach the lip which ail, without restraint,
Come near enough-if not to touch-to taint;
If such thou lovest-love her then no more,
Or give-like her-caresses to a score;
Her mind with these is gone, and with it go
The little left behind it to bestow.


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