Marsyas Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A BCBC DEDF GGHHBBIJKIFLKEMMN FFMLOPOPMQMQRBRBNN SSTTPPMUKVVKMUWXWWWW WWWWMM

CALLICLES from belowA
-
-
As the sky brightening south wind clears the dayB
And makes the mass'd clouds rollC
The music of the lyre blows awayB
The clouds that wrap the soulC
-
Oh that Fate had let me seeD
That triumph of the sweet persuasive lyreE
That famous final victoryD
When jealous Pan with Marsyas did conspireF
-
When from far Parnassus' sideG
Young Apollo all the prideG
Of the Phrygian flutes to tameH
To the Phrygian highlands cameH
Where the long green reed beds swayB
In the rippled waters greyB
Of that solitary lakeI
Where Maeander's springs are bornJ
Where the ridg'd pine wooded rootsK
Of Messogis westward breakI
Mounting westward high and higherF
There was held the famous strifeL
There the Phrygian brought his flutesK
And Apollo brought his lyreE
And when now the westering sunM
Touch'd the hills the strife was doneM
And the attentive Muses saidN
'Marsyas thou art vanquish d '-
Then Apollo's ministerF
Hang'd upon a branching firF
Marsyas that unhappy FaunM
And began to whet his knifeL
But the Maenads who were thereO
Left their friend and with robes flowingP
In the wind and loose dark hairO
O'er their polish'd bosoms blowingP
Each her ribbon'd tambourineM
Flinging on the mountain sodQ
With a lovely frighten'd mienM
Came about the youthful GodQ
But he turn'd his beauteous faceR
Haughtily another wayB
From the grassy sun warm'd placeR
Where in proud repose he layB
With one arm over his headN
Watching how the whetting spedN
-
But aloof on the lake strandS
Did the young Olympus standS
Weeping at his master's endT
For the Faun had been his friendT
For he taught him how to singP
And he taught him flute playingP
Many a morning had they goneM
To the glimmering mountain lakesU
And had torn up by the rootsK
The tall crested water reedsV
With long plumes and soft brown seedsV
And had carved them into flutesK
Sitting on a tabled stoneM
Where the shoreward ripple breaksU
And he taught him how to pleaseW
The red snooded Phrygian girlsX
Whom the summer evening seesW
Flashing in the dance's whirlsW
Underneath the starlit treesW
In the mountain villagesW
Therefore now Olympus standsW
At his master's piteous criesW
Pressing fast with both his handsW
His white garment to his eyesW
Not to see Apollo's scornM
Ah poor Faun poor Faun ah poor FaunM

Matthew Arnold



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