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.
"Godless, faithless have they grown;
Atheism now they preach.
Child, my child, oh, guard thee 'gainst
Feuerbach and Bauer too!
"Never be an atheist!
Monster void of reverence!
For a great Creator reared
All the mighty Universe!
"And the sun and moon on high,
And the stars--the stars with tails
Even as the tailless ones--
Are reflections of His power.
"In the depths of sea and land
Ring the echoes of His fame,
And each creature yields Him praise
For His glory and His might.
"E'en the tiny silver louse
Which within some pilgrim's beard
Shares his earthly pilgrimage,
Sings to Him a song of praise!
"High upon his golden throne
In yon splendid tent of stars,
Clad in cosmic majesty,
Sits a titan polar bear.
"Spotless, gleaming white as snow
Is his fur; his head is decked
With a crown of diamonds
Blazing through the central vault.
"In his face bide harmony
And the silent deeds of thought,
And obedient to his sceptre
All the planets chime and sing.
"At his feet sit holy bears,
Saints who suffered on the Earth,
Meekly. In their paws they hold
Splendid palms of martyrdom.
"Ever and anon they leap
To their feet as though aroused
By the Holy Ghost, and lo!
In a festal dance they join!
"'Tis a dance where saintly gifts
Cover up defects of style,--
Dance in which the very soul
Seeks to leap from out its skin!
"I, unworthy Troll, shall I
Ever such salvation share?
Shall I ever from this drear
Vale of tears ascend to joy?
"Shall I, drunk with Heaven's draught,
In that tent of stars above,
Dance before the Master's throne
With a halo and a palm?"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]