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414

‘Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch,

That nearer, every Day,

Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel

Until the Agony

Toyed coolly with the final inch

Of your delirious Hem —

And you dropt, lost,

When something broke —

And let you from a Dream —

As if a Goblin with a Gauge —

Kept measuring the Hours —

Until you felt your Second

Weigh, helpless, in his Paws —

And not a Sinew — stirred — could help,

And sense was setting numb —

When God — remembered — and the Fiend

Let go, then, Overcome —

As if your Sentence stood — pronounced —

And you were frozen led

From Dungeon’s luxury of Doubt

To Gibbets, and the Dead —

And when the Film had stitched your eyes

A Creature gasped «Reprieve»!

Which Anguish was the utterest — then —

To perish, or to live?

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