(AND SEEING "THE STRANGER" PLAYED AT INVERARY) OF late two dainties were before me plac'd Sweet, holy, pure, sacred and innocent, From the ninth sphere to me benignly sent That Gods might know my own particular taste. First the soft Bag-pipe mourn'd with zealous haste, The Stranger next with head on bosom bent Sigh'd; rueful again the piteous Bag-pipe went, Again the Stranger sighings fresh did waste. O Bag-pipe thou didst steal my heart away-- O stranger thou my nerves from Pipe didst charm-- O Bag-pipe thou didst re-assert thy sway-- Again thou Stranger gav'st me fresh alarm-- Alas! I could not choose. Ah! my poor heart, Mum chance art thou with both oblig'd to part. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BALLAD: TIME OF ROSES by THOMAS HOOD THE PRINCESS: SONG by ALFRED TENNYSON A POEM OF SPRING by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: MOURNER'S CONSOLED by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES STATUETTE by DOLORES DOROTHE BOST |