And all were pleas'd, and cold, and stately, Admir'd the superstructure greatly, Nor gave one thought to the foundation. To all plebeian fears a stranger, Had pledg'd her word there was no danger. So, on he caper'd, fearless quite, Thinking himself extremely clever, And waltz'd away with all his might, As if the Frost would last for ever. Just fancy how a bard like me, Who reverence monarchs, must have trembled To see that goodly company, At such a ticklish sport assembled. Nor were the fears, that thus astounded For, lo! ere long, those walls so massy Were seiz'd with an ill-omen'd dripping, And o'er the floors, now growing glassy, Their Holinesses took to slipping. The Czar, half through a Polonaise, Could scarce get on for downright stumbling; And Prussia, though to slippery ways Well us'd, was cursedly near tumbling. Yet still 'twas, who could stamp the floor most, This precious brace would, hand in hand, go; Now-while old Louis, from his chair, Intreated them his toes to spare Call'd loudly out for a Fandango. And a Fandango, 'faith, they had, Never were Kings (though small th' expense is Of wit among their Excellencies) So out of all their princely senses. But, ah, that dance- that Spanish dance Scarce was the luckless strain begun, When, glaring red, as 'twere a glance A light through all the chambers flam'd, Who, bursting into tears, exclaim'd, "A thaw, by Jove-we're lost, we're lost! "Run, France- a second Waterloo "Is come to drown you-sauve qui peut!" Why, why will monarchs caper so Crowns, fiddles, sceptres, decorations – With double heads for double dealings— Proud Prussia's double bird of prey Tame as a spatch cock, slunk away; While just like France herself, when she -- Proclaims how great her naval skill is Poor Louis' drowning fleurs-de-lys And not alone rooms, ceilings, shelves, The Great Legitimates themselves Th' indignant Czar-when just about "Whereas all light must be kept out”. The influence of this southern air, Some word, like "Constitution"— long Congeal'd in frosty silence there Came slowly thawing from his tongue. While Louis, lapsing by degrees, And sighing out a faint adieu To truffles, salmis, toasted cheese And smoking fondus, quickly grew, Himself, into a fondu too;— Or like that goodly King they make Of sugar for a Twelfth-night cake, When, in some urchin's mouth, alas, It melts into a shapeless mass! In short, I scarce could count a minute, Kings, Fiddlers, Emperors, all were gone And nothing now was seen or heard But the bright river, rushing on, Such is my dream— and, I confess, That Spanish Dance-that southern beam |