Chapter XXX

Spare, Oh! Time, these colours; spare 'em,
Or with thy tend'rest touch impair 'em:
At least, for some few centuries space,
Shine they with unlessen'd grace!
They shall---yet, Oh! these noble works at last
Must, by the gathering mould o'ercast,
Or rotted by the damps, decay,
Or by the air's corrosive power,
Or e'en the slowly-fretting hour,
Must every trace of beauty melt away. 290