Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE POET'S TERROR AT THE BALIFFS OF EXETER, FR. FREEDOM: A POEM, by ANDREW BRICE First Line: While perils imminent by slender thread Last Line: Exhaust, and tide of every art'ry frore. Subject(s): Depressions, Economic; Milton, John (1608-1674); Recessions | ||||||||
WHILE perils imminent by slender thread, Like pointed dagger o'er my caskless head Vibrissant, menace thus immediate fate, Each distant buzz my harrassed soul confounds, Their terrible irruption waiting. As When, in a city sacked, victorious Rage And Plunder range licentious; when mad Lust Loose roams and hot Pollution every porch Attacks; when mangling Slaughter prances through The blood-gurged street; retired to close recess The fainting virgin cowers at every noise Remote, and her dishevelled tresses twist The sanguinary hand already feels; So me, continual scared, each airy puff In dreadful undulations from afar, Or fluttering insect's nigh bombylious whirr, With killing panic strikes, the shoulder-grasp Avoidless as proclaiming. Pestered ears Vain 'twere to dam, the terror to exclude, Arresting every sense. My shrinking backThe clap by instinct shuns, and eyeballs make Spontaneous retrospection; heart too warns, Faint-throbbing constant, or to arms or flight. To flight? Ah! where, at heel (I shuddering tell!) Since the fierce terriers I ween pursue Close as my shadow? Where I wistly glance Direct, my path their apparitions skim, Along the roof or glide, or whizzing flit Beside my ears, me round or circling hem. Like eager bulldog Brooks's spectrum shoots, Ope-mouthed, his grinders frothed with blood, and things Slavering of viscous foam. And Townsend seems, With knobbed battoon uplift (huge Gazite's hand, Monster less horrible! such weaver's beam Might burthen) rushing on. Stern Rogers glares, With aspect like Medusa's snake-locked front Petrific, to a marbled Niobe Me staring. Rice him (countenance imbossed With boil-volcanoes, wherein Tophet-flames Glow quenchless, worm perennial gnawing) backs. Behind them Kent perhorrid lurks, conjoined With Tucker, surly as on Russian snows The cub-robbed bear, more vigilant to spring Than libbard on his prey. On drivelled wall Dried spawls fortuitous foul represent, In fresco vile, cursed Elliot's phizz, than which Not rough-carved lion at the prow, not masque For th' island dev'l-got witch-teemed monster wrought, Not Angelo's Doompiece famed (where demons vie Deformed visage), one so hideous shows. And thousand bums minacious perdue seem In every chink; while peals of hell-rung bans, Ructant from Savery's throat and Newton's (sounds Of desolation as if to denounce Inthralment endless!) sorely terebrate My sense auricular. Oh, torturing fear! Anticipation of what pains, 'tis sung, The damned endure! Ixion's twirlèd wheel, Th' impendent threat'ning rock, the greedy beak Which the fresh-growing liver ceaseless digs, The plenty-mockèd thirst of Pelops' sire, Frustrated labour of the Belides, Vain toil of Sisyphus, and biting rods By wood Alecto thrown, are felt in thee! Yet torments light with those conferred, I doubt, The upper hell, where Valglin sways, possess. Horror on horror! see! behind his grates The steeled perdition, giant-cruelty, Whose guilt-engrossing, transmigrated soul A thousand alligators erst had taught Larger voration! See! he whets his tusk Scurvied with prisoners' blood, his orbs and rolls That sparkle fiery malice, breathing fierce Expectance of my coming! Hark! he clinks The gyves excessive! Lo! and baleful damps My nostril from his mirksome vault infest! Distracting vision! which my frighted balls Of light their strained cords burst to start from, then Deep in their sockets shrink; crazed my whole frame Of nature feels, unhinged and ev'ry bone Clatt'ring within the flabby lean, their pith Exhaust, and tide of every art'ry frore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEPRESSION DAYS (2) by PAT MORA EDEN, THEN AND NOW by RUTH STONE BAGPIPE MUSIC by FREDERICK LOUIS MACNEICE DRIVING IN OKLAHOMA by CARTER REVARD TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. DEEP BELOW DEEP by EDWARD CARPENTER TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. EXCEPT THE LORD BUILD THE HOUSE by EDWARD CARPENTER SONNETS ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OF CONTEMPORARY WRITERS: 2 by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |
|