The crash of music, candles' glare

And rapid whirl of many feet,

The ladies' dresses airy, light,

The motley moving mass and bright,

Young ladies in a vasty curve,

To strike imagination serve.

'Tis there that arrant fops display

Their insolence and waistcoats white

And glasses unemployed all night;

Thither hussars on leave will stray

To clank the spur, delight the fair -

And vanish like a bird in air.

XLIX.

Full many a lovely star hath night

And Moscow many a beauty fair:

Yet clearer shines than every light

The moon in the blue atmosphere.

And she to whom my lyre would fain,

Yet dares not, dedicate its strain,

Shines in the female firmament

Like a full moon magnificent.

Lo! with what pride celestial

Her feet the earth beneath her press!

Her heart how full of gentleness,

Her glance how wild yet genial!

Enough, enough, conclude thy lay -

For folly's dues thou hadst to pay.

L.

Noise, laughter, bowing, hurrying mixt,

Gallop, mazurka, waltzing - see!

A pillar by, two aunts betwixt,

Tania, observed by nobody,

Looks upon all with absent gaze

And hates the world's discordant ways.

'Tis noisome to her there: in thought