Dance, that lendest pinions
to our willing feet,
hand-clasp, tender whispers,
mirth and love dost greet,
how our pulses quicken
all on fire with glee,
when in measured order
thy glad ranks we see!

As a tree in spring-time,
white with many a flow'r,
as the dove's bright plumage,
as the hosts of war
fair art thou to gaze on,
glad and gracious dance,
when to their dear maidens
eager swains advance.

Come then, let us greet them,
plighted man and maid,
who have vowed to marry
e'er the year be dead.
Like a pleasing measure
may the moments fly,
while in love and pleasure
each new year goes by!