On Seeing Mademoiselle *** Dance At The Opera In Paris
By Thomas Oldham
What fine aerial Shape,
In orient colours dight,
Springs from the world unknown
Upon my wondering sight?
Loosely through various space
The lovely Figure flows,
And leaves the sleeping air
Unconscious as it goes.
Hark! a spontaneous strain
Its fairy gait attends;
In concord every sound
With every movement blends.
Lo, now! the passive Form
Moves as the music leads;
Each motion from each note,
Harmoniously proceeds.
By the same sense, methinks,
At once I hear and see;
And ears and eyes and mind
Are all one harmony.
Along my shivering nerves
The mingled raptures thrill,
And strangely take my soul,
And rule it as they will;
True to the magic force,
That shifts a thousand ways,
An echo, and a shade,
It answers and obeys.
But ah! the charm expires.
Did Fancy thus deceive?
She smiles, and fondly vain,
Would have me so believe.