TO A PIPE OF TOBACCO.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and honored by the wise, Come filled with honest "Weekly's best,"
And kindled from the lofty skies.
While round me clouds of incense roll, With guiltless joys you charm the sense, And nobler pleasure to the soul In hints of moral truth dispense.
Soon as you feel th' enliv'ning ray, To dust you hasten to return, And teach me that my earliest day Began to give me to the urn.
But though thy grosser substance sink To dust, thy purer part aspires; This when I see, I joy to think That earth but half of me requires.
Like thee, myself am born to die, Made half to rise, and half to fall.
Oh, could I, while my moments fly, The bliss you give me give to all!
_Gentleman's Magazine_, July, 1745.
In the smoke of my dear cigarito Cloud castles rise gorgeous and tall; And Eros, divine muchachito, With smiles hovers over it all.
But dreaming, forgetting to cherish The fire at my lips as it dies, The dream and the rapture must perish, And Eros descend from the skies.
O wicked and false muchachito, Your rapture I yet may recall; But, like my re-lit cigarito, A bitterness tinges it all.
CAMILLA K. VON K.
A GOOD CIGAR.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From the heart of a pipe to get; And a dainty maid Or a budding blade May toy with the cigarette; But a man, when the time Of a glorious prime Dawns forth like a morning star, Wants the dark-brown bloom And the sweet perfume That go with a good cigar.
To lazily float In a painted boat On a shimmering morning sea, Or to flirt with a maid In the afternoon shade Seems good enough sport to be; But the evening hour, With its subtle power, Is sweeter and better far, If joined to the joy, Devoid of alloy, That lurks in a good cigar.
When a blanket wet Is solidly set O'er hopes prematurely grown; When ambition is tame, And energy lame, And the bloom from the fruit is blown; When to dance and to dine With women and wine Past poverty pleasures are,-- A man's not bereft Of all peace, if there's left The joy of a good cigar.
NORRIS BULL.
A glass is good, and a lass is good, And a pipe to smoke in cold weather; The world is good, and the people are good, And we're all good fellows together.
JOHN O'KEEFE: _Sprigs of Laurel_, Act ii. sc. i.
MY FRIENDLY PIPE.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cigarettes, Whose opiates get in their pates Till waking brings regrets; Oh, let them doze, devoid of woes, Of troubles, and of frets.
And let the chap who loves to nap With his cigar in hand Pursue his way, and live his day, As runs time's changing sand; Let him delight by day and night In his peculiar brand.
But as for me, I love to be Provided with a pipe,-- A rare old bowl to warm my soul, A meerschaum brown and ripe,-- With good plug cut, no stump or butt, Nor filthy gutter-snipe.
My joys increase! It brings me peace As nothing else can do; From all the strife of daily life Here my relief is true.
I watch its rings; it purrs and sings-- And then it's cheaper, too!
_Detroit Tribune_.
ODE TO TOBACCO.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy suppliant attend In each dull, lonely hour; And though misfortunes lie around, Thicker than hailstones on the ground, I'll rest upon thy power.
Then while the coxcomb, pert and proud, The politician, learned and loud, Keep one eternal clack, I'll tread where silent Nature smiles, Where Solitude our woe beguiles, And chew thee, dear Tobac.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
A BACHELOR'S SOLILOQUY.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er knew the Benedict's yoke; I worship a fairy-like, fanciful form, That goes up the chimney in smoke.
I sit in my dressing-gowned slipperful ease, Without wife or bairns to provoke, And puff at my pipe, while my hopes and my fears All go up the chimney in smoke.
I sit with my pipe, and my heart's lonesome care I try, but all vainly, to choke.
Ah, me! but I find that the flame that Love lights Won't go up the chimney in smoke.
_Cigar and Tobacco World_, London.
THE DREAMER'S PIPE.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the dreamer's lip, Fragrant odors from thy bowl Mingling with the dreamer's soul; Curling wreaths of smoke ascending, Comfort sweet with incense blending.
Joy and peace and solace sending To the dreamer's heart.