Tyrolian mädchen, Magyar brune, and rough Sclavonian blonde:
Of look more gracious than her mood, more potent than her power,
Trying all arts, and changing trick and toilet with the hour.
And Spain, still proud as when she walked New World and Old a Queen,
Beneath her soiled and frayed brocades the rags plain to be seen,
Stately of speech, but beggarly of all but sounding phrase,
Slattern at home and shrew abroad, in worse as better days.
With sidelong and suspicious looks on Russia, Austria cast,
Which scarce her yashmak serves to hide, see Turkey gliding past.
A harem-beauty out of place 'twixt angers and alarms