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THE BALLET.-"THE POETRY OF MOTION.”

In a way that defies
Opera glasses or eyes
(So rapid's his motion)
To form any notion
Of the number of pas
Which, in spite of the laws
Of the earth's great attraction,
With immense satisfaction

I'm going to write

It's my pride and delight-
On the very best part of an opera night;

When the singing is done
And the footmen walk on,
And all round and round
Besprinkle the ground,
And the sweet CORPS DE BALLET,
In muslin and chalis,
With their toes at right angles,
All covered with spangles
And other fine things,
Dance on from the wings,
And, like so many graces,
Chassez down to their places.
Here they wait till a smash,
Or grand orchestral crash,
Brings on, with a dash,
When the ballet has Perrot in,
Himself or the heroine.
I'm sure I don't know
Any one who can go
On the tip of his toe
And turn about so
But MONSIEUR PERROT.
I vow and declare
I do nothing but stare
When he cuts in the air,
And crosses his pair
Of beautiful pumps,
Every time that he jumps,

He, in medias res,
Performs with such ease.
And when, with a bound,
He comes back to the ground
And spins round and round,
Like an obstinate top
That the deuce cannot stop,
Which twirls on its peg
As he does on one leg,

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need not be told There's more glitter than gold ! But if, as a goddess, With wings to her boddice, A prop

with her hand on, And one leg to stand on,

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And looks just as though
He could make himself

grow,
At his special desire,
At least a foot higher!
See, he throws back his chest,
Counts the

proper
And then he and his tights
Have reached the foot-lights,
Where he stops with a bow !-
And it's Madame's turn, now.
I have often heard tell a
Tale of “ Cinderella,”
Whose slipper so small
Was the wonder of all :
If you 'll bet, I 'll give that in,
And back the white satin,

Now rising in air,
As one that would make its glass rival despair !

After forming a point
That no foot with a joint
Could ever achieve,
And no mortal believe,
Unless their own eyes
Beheld the surprise,
With a bound half as high

As the blue and dust sky (Which proves, if she liked, the lady could fly!),

The danseuse will be
Perror's vis-à-vis ;

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A little board slides on, And Cerito glides on With her toe to the ceiling, Just think of her feeling (From such things preserve us, As we're rather nervous !) Of horror and terror, If, by some fatal error, When ready to start For her fairy-like part, The super, whose duty Is to dray on the beauty, Should chance to forget her, Or, far worse, upset her! But see, they've beganWhat a wonderful man! Just mark, when he strains His neck, how he cranes,

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Then a chassez and twirl,
And all-round-the-stage-whirl,
At the top will discover
The pas-de-deux lover ;
His hand neatly placed
Round dear Cerito's waist,
And so perfect their pose
On the tips of their toes,
That this " balance of power”
They can keep by the hour.
Now trumpets and drumming
Announce some one coming,
Which seems a sad blow
To poor MONSIEUR Perrot,
And equally so
To MA'AMSELLE Cerito,
For they instantly part
With a hand on each heart,
And a look that might say-
“We wish quarter-day,
When we'd no means to pay,
Had happened to come
Instead of that drum
And its consequent hints-
We shall soon see the prince."
And such is the case ;
For a very red face
And a very black wig,
And gloves very big,
And a cap and a feather,
Then come on together :
All which prove that the gent
Who wears them's the re-gent.
He having well frowned
On the supers around,

In his great power's latitude,
Strikes, as may be seen, a magnificent attitude :

His highness ne'er talks
Nor dances, but stalks,
And all about walks,

Like a great pedometer,
Or vile busy Peter,
Whose only delight
Is to vent his base spite,
And insist upon carrying
Off, and perhaps marrying,
The very young woman
Who swears—" on earth no man,
Though she's far from ungrateful,
Can be half so hateful.”
He then threatens force,
As a matter of course,
Swears homeward he'll drag her,
Claps his hand to his dagger
With an air of delirium

And horrid distraction,-
But the reader must know

This is all done by action, Then the guards are marched on In a line one by one,

Who alive are and kicking,
And will give him a licking
If he does not disown
His right to the crown,
And retire somewhere
On two hundred a-year.”
The prince in a fright
Owns the statement is right,
And, in horrid despair,
Resigns the sweet fair
To the much-oppressed lout

He had tried to cut out,
Who puts forth the best leg and toe that he can sport,
And a pas-de-deux speaks the excess of their transport.

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With cross-belts and pouches, And various cartouches ; And the order is given To send up to heaven The audacious varlet, In white silk and scarlet, Who has dared to ensnare The love of the fair, Who seems to consider, Although highest bidder And famed gay deluder, The prince an intruder. And just as the monster Declares that, at one stir Of his wicked forefinger, Should a single hand linger, Nor let off slap-bang His piece, he shall hangHis father or mother, Or some one or other,

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Rush on and declare

“If his highness but dare
Lay a hand on the pair,
He had better beware ;
For they very well know
That his title 's no go,
As he happens to be
The youngest of three

Then on comes a priest,
Or a deacon, at least,
And without further bother,
Gives one to the other;
When an old legal votary,
Known as a notary,
With a gait for a march-ment,
Produces a parchment,
Which soon, nothing loth,
Is signed by them both,

Who are made man and wife,
Thus charmingly ending the BALLET and strife

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