Marsyas, a celebrated player on the flute, is hanged and flayed alive by Apollo, as a punishment for his imprudence in challenging the god to a trial of skill—The death of the musician is universally lamented by the Fauns, Satyrs, and Dryads; and from their abundant tears arises a river of Phrygia, well known by the name of Marsyas.
Scarce had the mar; this famous story told, Of vengeance on the Lycians shown of old, When, straight, another pictures to their view The satyr’s fate, whom angry Phoebus slew; Who, raised with high conceit, and puff’d with pride, At his own pipe the skilful god defied. “Why do you tear me from myself?” he cries; “Ah! cruel; must my skin be made the prize? This for a silly pipe?” he roaring said; Meanwhile the skin from off his limbs was flay’d. All bare, and raw, one large continued wound, With streams of blood his body bathed the ground. The bluish veins their trembling pulse disclosed, The stringy nerves lay naked and exposed, His entrails too distinctly each express’d, With every shining fibre of his breast.