Descend, great Bunn!—descend and bring A furnace of poetic fire; Nib fifty pens, and take your fling, Boldly of foolscap fill a quire. In a namby-pamby strain, Let the tenor first complain; Let the falsetto sound, With nasal twang around, Till in applause 'tis drown'd. Then in more ponderous notes and slow, Let the deep bass go down, extremely low. Hark the shrill soprano near Bursts upon the startled ear! Higher and higher does she rise, And fills with awful screams the flies. By straining and shrieking she reaches the notes, Out of tune, out of time too, the wild music floats; Till, by degrees, the vigorous bawl Seems to decay, And melts away In a feeble, feeble squall. In music there's a medium, you know; Don't sing too high nor sink too low. If in a house tumultuous rows arise, Music to drown the noise the means supplies; Or when the housemaid, pressed with cares, To yonder public-house repairs, Some gallant soldier, fired by music's sound, Will order pints of half-and-half all round. John the footman nods his head, Swears he'll not go home to bed; In his arms a partner takes, As some courteous speech he makes; And suddenly the joyous pair engage In giddy Waltz or Polka, now the rage. But when the violin puts forth its charms, How the sweet music every bosom warms! So when the dilettante dared the squeeze, To hear of Jenny Lind the opening strain, And in the rush serenely sees His best coat torn in twain, Transported simpletons stood round, And men grew spooneys at the sound, Roaring with all their wind; Each one his power of lung displayed In bawling to the Swedish maid; While cheers from box to pit resound For Lind, for Lind, for Lind!