THE LOST LOTUS.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dwelt a race whose softly flowing hours Passed like the vision of a royal feast, By Nero given in the Baian bowers; Thanks to the lotus-blossom spell, Their lives were one long miracle.
In after years the passing sons of men Looked for those lotus blossoms all in vain, Through every hillside, glade, and glen And e'en the isles of many a main; Yet through the centuries some doom, Forbade them see the lotus bloom.
The Old World wearied of the long pursuit, And called the sacred leaf a poet's theme, When lo! the New World, rich in flower and fruit, Revealed the lotus, lovelier than the dream That races of the long past days did haunt,-- The green-leaved, amber-tipped tobacco plant.
ANON.
THE SCENT OF A GOOD CIGAR.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Something sweeter than jasmine scent, Sweeter than rose and violet blent, More potent in power than orange or musk?
The scent of a good cigar.
I am all alone in my quiet room, And the windows are open wide and free To let in the south wind's kiss for me, While I rock in the softly gathering gloom, And that subtle fragrance steals.
Just as a loving, tender hand Will sometimes steal in yours, It softly comes through the open doors, And memory wakes at its command,-- The scent of that good cigar.
And what does it say? Ah! that's for me And my heart alone to know; But that heart thrills with a sudden glow, Tears fill my eyes till I cannot see,-- From the scent of that good cigar.
KATE A. CARRINGTON.
TO MY CIGAR.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doctor's spite; Thy clouds all other clouds dispel, And lap me in delight.
What though they tell, with phizzes long, My years are sooner past!
I would reply with reason strong, They're sweeter while they last.
When in the lonely evening hour, Attended but by thee, O'er history's varied page I pore, Man's fate in thine I see.
Oft as the snowy column grows, Then breaks and falls away, I trace how mighty realms thus rose, Thus tumbled to decay.
Awhile like thee earth's masters burn And smoke and fume around; And then, like thee, to ashes turn, And mingle with the ground.
Life's but a leaf adroitly rolled, And Time's the wasting breath That, late or early, we behold Gives all to dusty death.
From beggar's frieze to monarch's robe, One common doom is passed; Sweet Nature's works, the swelling globe, Must all burn out at last.
And what is he who smokes thee now?
A little moving heap, That soon, like thee, to fate must bow, With thee in dust must sleep.
But though thy ashes downward go, Thy essence rolls on high; Thus, when my body lieth low, My soul shall cleave the sky.
CHARLES SPRAGUE.
KNICKERBOCKER.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knickerbocker!
Boughton, had you bid me chant Hymns to Peter Stuyvesant, Had you bid me sing of Wouter, He, the onion head, the doubter!
But to rhyme of this one--Mocker!
Who shall rhyme to Knickerbocker?
Nay, but where my hand must fail, There the more shall yours avail; You shall take your brush and paint All that ring of figures quaint,-- All those Rip Van Winkle jokers, All those solid-looking smokers, Pulling at their pipes of amber, In the dark-beamed Council Chamber.
Only art like yours can touch Shapes so dignified--and Dutch; Only art like yours can show How the pine logs gleam and glow, Till the firelight laughs and passes 'Twixt the tankards and the glasses, Touching with responsive graces All those grave Batavian faces, Making bland and beatific All that session soporific.
Then I come and write beneath: Boughton, he deserves the wreath; He can give us form and hue-- This the Muse can never do!
AUSTIN DOBSON.
THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_.
They were three jolly sailors bold, Who sailed across the sea; They'd braved the storm, and stood the gale, And got to Virgin-ee.
THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a bit before,-- And now these here three sailors bold Went cruising on the shore.
A lurch to starboard, one to port, Now forrard, boys, go we, With a haul and a "Ho!" and a "That's your sort!"
To find out Tobac-kee.
Says Jack, "This here's a rummy land."
Says Tom, "Well, shiver me!
The sun shines out as precious hot As ever I did see."
Says Dick, "Messmates, since here we be,"-- And gave his eye a wink,-- "We've come to find out Tobac-kee, Which means a drop to drink."