Classic Poem

Of late two dainties were before me placed,
Sweet, holy, pure, sacred and innocent,
From the ninth sphere benignly sent
That Gods might know my own particular taste.
First the soft bagpipe mourned with zealous haste,
The Stranger next, with head on bosom bent,
Sighed; rueful again the piteous bagpipe went,
Again the Stranger sighings fresh did waste.
O Bagpipe, thou didst steal my heart away —
O Stranger, thou my nerves from pipe didst charm —
O Bagpipe, thou didst re-assert thy sway —
Again, thou Stranger gav'st me fresh alarm!
Alas! I could not choose. Ah! my poor heart,
Mumchance art thou with both obliged to part.