Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE VIVISECTOR, by FREDERIC ROWLAND MARVIN


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE VIVISECTOR, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Would I the vivisector's hand enclasp?
Last Line: The baseness is our own, to us the brutal crimes belong.
Subject(s): Animal Rights; Crime & Criminals; Murder; Physicians; Schools; Science; Animal Abuse; Vivisection; Doctors; Students; Scientists


WOULD I the vivisector's hand enclasp? May God forbid!
Let the red scoundrel go his way; not mine
To share his cruel life to shame and mercy doubly dead.
The air I would not breathe he breathes; the wind
Of life should be unmixed with gall. A heart of flint may be
A thing to wonder at a while, but not
To love and trust, though Science and Fair Learning yield their names
To cover o'er the dark and damning blot
Of his base deeds. With blood his hands are red, and more that foul
Form reeking filth of shambles where resound,
From creatures misnamed dumb, despairing cries of agony—
Vain cries for mercy: mercy is not found
Where men more like to fiends in hell, with ruthless heats perverse,
Live, and delight them in the pain they give.
May God on them the mercy they refuse bestow! But I
Must still remain too human to forgive.

A little dog too gentle to defend itself form wrong,
By years of kindness taught to trust, was rudely bound one day.
A ruffian who himself "physician" called, the quiv-ring nerves
Dissected out with greedy knife, the blood all] dripping down
From his vile hands upon the sanded floor. The creature's howls
Of agony he heeded not; the shameful lust of pain
Was in his loveless soul; the joy of butchery inspired
His icy bosom with the spirit of the ancient Cain,
For he would have dissected out his brother's heart, could he
Have won applause from men as vile and brutal as himself.

Around him wounded creatures lay; instruments of torture
Covered all the slippery floor and the ensanguined shelf.
The air was heavy with the fetor of decay; a sense
Of deepening horror darkly brooded all the place, as though
The creatures, great and small, that he had cut or torn apart,
Had left him with their curse a nameless legacy of woe.
Upon him by mere chance I came, but ne'er shall I forget
The scene my vision met in shambles where he gladly wrought,
And in the name of Holy Science, to his students round,
With conscience seared and shameless, all the art of murder taught.

Yet there be Christian men and women who his lie believe:
"'T is for advance of Science and to help the Healing Art
That countless beasts, and birds, and swimming creatures God hath made,
Must mangled be, and cut, and burned, and rudely torn apart."
Great God! have we not human hearts who boast a Christian name?
Are we all dead to conscience and to every sense of shame?
When we lift not our voices 'gainst so great a deed of wrong,
The baseness is our own, to us the brutal crimes belong.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net