XXXVIII.
At which he falls into a deadly chill,
And strains his eyes upon her lips apart;
Fearing each breath to feel that prelude shrill,
Pierce through his marrow, like a breath-blown dart
Shot sudden from an Indian's hollow cane,
With mortal venom fraught, and fiery pain.
XXXIX.
Here then, poor wretch, how he begins to crowd
A thousand thoughts within a pulse's space;