See the Spectre of the Smells--
London Smells!
What a world of retrospect his tyranny compels!
In the silence of the night
How we muse on the old plight
Of Kensington,--a Dismal Swamp, and lone!
Still the old Swamp-Demon floats
O'er the City, as our throats
Have long known.
And the people--ah, the people--
Though as high as a church steeple
They have gone
For fresh air, that Demon's tolling
In a muffled monotone
Their doom, and rolling, rolling
O'er the City overgrown.
He is neither man nor woman,
He is neither brute nor human,
He's a Ghoul;
Spectre King of Smells, he tolls,
And he rolls, rolls, rolls.
Rolls,
With his cohort of Bad Smells!
And his cruel bosom swells
With the triumph of the Smells.
Whose long tale the scribbler tells
To the _Times, Times, Times_,
Telling of "local" crimes
In the gendering of the Smells,
Of the Smells:
To the _Times, Times, Times_,
Telling of Railway crimes,
In the fostering of Smells,--
Of the Smells, Smells, Smells,
Brick-field Smells, bone-boiling Smells,
Whilst the Demon of old times
With us dwells, dwells, dwells.
The old Swamp Fiend of moist climes!
See him rolling with his Smells--
Awful Smells. Smells. Smells--
See him prowling with his Smells,
Horrid Smells, Smells, Smells--
London Smells, Smells, Smells, Smells,
Smells, Smells, Smells,--
_Will_ the County Council free us from these Smells?
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