ODE to the DRUM

I HATE that drum's discordant sound, Parading round, and round, and round; To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields, And lures from cities and from fields. To fell their liberty for chains Of tawdry lace, and glitt'ring arms, And when ambition's voice commands, To march and fight, and fall in foreign lands.

I hate that drum's discordant sound, Parading round, and round, and round, To me it talks of ravag'd plains, And burning towns and ruin'd swains, And mangled limbs and dying groans, And widow's tears, and ophan's moans, And all that misery's hand bestows, To swell the catalogue of human woes.