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 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.