XXIX. 
Choked with their reek and fume and bitter sweat 
His body perishes, his life is drained, 
The last sweet drop of nectar has not stained 
Another life, his lips and limbs are wet 
With death-dews !  Ha !  The painter has attained 
As high a meed 
As his who first begot sweet music on a reed. 
 
XXX. 
And O ! my music is so poor and thin ! 
I am poor Marsyas ; where shall I find 
A wise Olympas and a lover kind 
To teach my mouth to sing some secret sin, 
Faint, fierce, and horrible, to tune my mind, 
And on a reed 
Better beloved to bid me discourses at his need ? 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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