Classic Poem

CASTLE Garden was splendid one night — though the wet
Put off for some evenings the ball for F AYETTE .
The arrangements were rich, the occasion was pat,
And the whole was in style; — but I sing not of that.

Ye Graces, attend to a poet's condition,
And bring your right heels to the second position;
I sing of a dance such as never was seen
On fairy-tripped meadow, or muse-haunted green.

The length of the room, and the height of the hall,
The price of the tickets, the cost of the ball,
And the sums due for dresses, I'm glad to forget —
I'd rather pay off the whole national debt.

The fiddlers were Editors, rang'd on the spot,
There were strings that were rosin'd, and strings that were not;
Who furnish'd the instruments I do not know,
But each of the band drew a very long bow .

They screw'd up their pegs, and they shoulder'd their fiddles;
They finger'd the notes of their hey-diddle-diddles;
Spectators look'd on — they were many a million,
To see the performers in this great cotillion.

One Adams first led Miss Diplomacy out,
And Crawford Miss Money — an heiress no doubt;
And Jackson Miss Dangerous, a tragical actor,
And Clay, Madam Tariff, of home manufacture.

There was room for a set just below, and each buck
Had a belle by his side, like a drake with his duck;
But the first set attracted the whole room's attention,
For they cut the capers most worthy of mention.

They bow'd and they curtsied, round went all eight,
Right foot was the word, and chasse was the gait;
Then they balanc'd to partners, and turn'd them about,
And each one alternate was in and was out.

Some kick'd and some flounder'd, some set and some bounded,
'Till the music was drown'd — the figure confounded;
Some danc'd dos a dos , and some danc'd contreface ,
And some promenaded — and all lost their place.

In the midst of this great pantomimic ballette,
What guest should arrive but the great L A F AYETTE !
The dancers all bow'd, and the fiddlers chang'd tune,
Like Apollo's banjo to the man in the moon.

How sweet were the notes, and how bold was the strain!
O, when shall we list to such concord again?
The hall was sky-cover'd with Freedom's bright arch,
And it rung to the music of Liberty's march.