Whether it came (when close entangled
In the gay waltz) from her bright eyes,
Or from the lucciole, that spangled
Her locks of jet—is all surmise;
But certain 'tis the ethereal girl
Did drop a spark at some odd turning,
Which by the waltz's windy whirl
Was fanned up into actual burning.
Oh for that Lamp's metallic gauze,
That curtain of protecting wire,
Which DAVY delicately draws
Around illicit, dangerous fire!—
The wall he sets 'twixt Flame and Air,
(Like that which barred young Thisbe's bliss,)
Thro' whose small holes this dangerous pair
May see each other but not kiss.
At first the torch looked rather bluely,—
A sign, they say, that no good boded—
Then quick the gas became unruly.
And, crack! the ball-room all exploded.
Sylphs, gnomes, and fiddlers mixt together,
With all their aunts, sons, cousins, nieces,
Like butterflies in stormy weather,
Were blown—legs, wings, and tails—to pieces!
While, mid these victims of the torch,
The Sylph, alas, too, bore her part—
Found lying with a livid scorch
As if from lightning o'er her heart!
* * * * *
"Well done"—a laughing Goblin said—
Escaping from this gaseous strife—
"'Tis not the first time Love has made
"A blow-up in connubial life!"