On Hearing The Bag-Pipe And Seeing "The Stranger" Played At Inverary

by John Keats

    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 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.