He ravish’d all ears with such strains of his own—
In a descant so solemn, so melting a moan,—
As Apollo might breathe from his musical throne!—
But music’s no guard against mischief, ’tis found;
For this vocal Magician, this Tyrant of sound,
Has a trick—as with just indignation I state—
To decoy little warblers, by mocking the mate;
But no sooner has manag’d his dupes to inveigle,
Than he scares out their souls with the screams of an Eagle.
Now the tables were clear’d, and the Cock gave a crow.—