Look at the dance! You may trace in its playful and varying changes
National manners and habits—the feelings and thoughts of the people.
First, see the German come forward—and, waltzing three paces, he seizes
Her whom he loves, and he gracefully wheels her in light-footed circle:
Simple and quiet in all things—his very enjoyments are tranquil:
One and one only he claims—if he love her, his love will be faithful.
Giddy and graceful and vain, comes the Frenchman, and, ogling and sporting,
Flits from one maid to another—to this and to that his hand proffers:
Fiery and rash as a child, like a child he is light and capricious;
Changes his mistress at will, and humours his fancy till weary.
Whelmed in a passionate storm, the Magyar's turbulent spirit
Blends in the dance all the heat of his struggling and glowing affection,
Like a sweet breeze—and his soul-piercing softness insinuates
All that is hid in the depths of his gen'rous and love-flowing spirit.
Link'd and dissevered, he leads or is led by the lovely Hungarian;
Dances alone in his joy, while all the earth trembles delighted.
This is the warrior's dance, which Kinysi, with blood-spotted weapons,
Danced with his followers around the heaps of his enemies scatter'd.
Here are no rules of art, no masters of science assembled;
This is her own bright law—'tis fancy's own free-pinion'd charter.
Let ev'ry man who is born to the dance of the Magyar be joyful;
Strength and vigor are hi?, inspiring his spirit with firmness.