Great Regulars: Terror turns into nothing more than

tutting disapproval and the contrast evokes shrieks of laughter rather than fear. This technique of pulling the rug from underneath our feet is repeated throughout the poem, as if the speaker is struggling to keep a straight face.

Now we hear the voice of one of the murderers coming through the storm. He challenges those who "list" (meaning "listen") "to sever the dead man's wrist." The use of triple rhyme gives his words a marvelous swing and ring, and the final line, "And pluck me five locks of the dead man's hair" rounds off the passage with tremendous, lip-smacking relish. Who could resist the temptation to say the words aloud in a suitably sinister voice?

from Christopher Nield: The Epoch Times: The Antidote--Classic Poetry for Modern Life: A Reading from 'The Hand of Glory'

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