WHEN by the brook his strainCupid is fluting, And on the neighboring plainMayors disputing, There turns the ear ere long,Loving and tender, Yet to the noise a songSoon must surrender.
Loud then the flute-notes gladSound 'mid war's thunder;If I grow raving mad,Is it a wonder?
Flutes sing and trumpets bray,Waxing yet stronger;If, then, my senses stray,Wonder no longer.
1814.
-----