With this he rushed to where his loved one stood,
Asked her to dance—sweet girl!—she said she would;
Joy to the Russian! he is blest indeed,
And soon outstrips the fashionable speed;—
Too fatal speed! the floor’s vanished chalk
Which pairs, more careful, step o’er in a walk,
Arrests not them too fond to look below,
Till down they suddenly together go!
Smile not, ye fools!—the fair one’s head is broke!
They raised her up, but never more she spoke!