"For they lack all sense of style; All plasticity of limb Lacks that race. Full surely they Would debauch the public taste." [Illustration] [Illustration] CANTO VII Gloomy in his gloomy cave, In the circle of his home, Crouches Troll, the Foe of Man, As he growls and champs his jaws. "Men, O crafty, pert _canaille_! Smile away! That mighty hour Dawns wherein we shall be freed From your bondage and your smiles! "Most offensive was to me That same twitching bitter-sweet Of the lips--the smiles of men I found unendurable! "When in every visage white I beheld that fatal spasm, Then did anger seize my bowels And I felt a hideous qualm. "For the smiling lips of men More insultingly declare, Even than their lips avouch, All their insolence of soul. "And they smile forever! Even When all decency demands Gravity--as in the moments Of love's solemn mysteries. "Yea, they smile forever. Even In their dances!--desecrate Thus this high and noble art Which a sacred cult should be. "Ah, the dance in olden days Was a pious act of faith, When the priests in solemn round Turned about their holy shrines. "Thus before the Covenant's Sacred Ark King David danced. Dancing then was worship too,-- It was praying with the legs! "So did I regard my dance When before the people all In the market-place I danced And was cheered by every soul. "This applause, I grant you, oft Made me feel content at heart; Sweet it is from grudging foes Admiration thus to win! "Yet despite their rapture they Still would smile and smile! My art-- Even that proved vain to save Them from base frivolity!" [Illustration] [Illustration] CANTO VIII Many a virtuous citizen Smells unpleasantly the while Ducal knaves are lavendered Or a-reek with ambergris. There are many virgin souls Redolent of greenest soap; Vice will often lave herself In rose attar top to toe. Therefore, gentle reader, pray, Do not lift your nose in air Should Troll's cavern fail to rouse Memories of Arabia's spice. Bide with me within this reek, 'Mid these turbid odours foul, Whence unto his son our hero Speaks, as from a misty cloud: "Child, my child, the last begot Of my loins, thy single ear Snuggle close against the snout Of thy father, and give heed! "Oh, beware man's mode of thought; It destroys both flesh and soul, For amongst all mankind never Shalt thou find one worthy man. "E'en the Germans, once the best, Even Tuiskion's sons, Our dear cousins primitive, Even they have grown effete.