For this is true, I will maintain,-- And I am far from joking,-- Of all the pleasures men have found There's none to equal smoking.
W. LLOYD.
AD NICOTINA.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._"
Let others sing the praise of wine; I'll tolerate no queen But one fair nymph of spotless line, The gentle Nicotine.
Her breath's as sweet as any flower's, No matter where it blows, And makes this dull old world of ours The color of the rose.
There's not a pang but she can soothe, Nor spell but she can break, And e'en the hardest lot can smooth, And bid us courage take.
Fair Nicotine! thou dost atone For many an aching heart; And I for one will gladly own The magic of thine art.
Ah, "friendly traitress," "loving foe,"
Forgive this loving lay; For I, thy worshipper, would show The sweetness of thy sway.
"Sublime tobacco!" may thy reign Ne'er for one moment cease; For thou, Great Plant, art kin to brain, And synonym for peace.
E.H.S.
MEERSCHAUM.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organs play; And the torture they're inflicting Will vanish quite away.
I open my study window And into the twilight peer, And my anxious eyes are watching For the man with my evening beer.
In one hand is the shining pewter, All amber the ale doth glow; In t'other are long "churchwardens,"
As spotless and pure as snow.
Ah! what would the world be to us Tobaccoless?--Fearful bore!
We should dread the day after to-morrow Worse than the day before.
As the elephant's trunk to the creature, Is the pipe to the man, I trow; Useful and meditative As the cud to the peaceful cow.
So to the world is smoking; Through that we feel, with bliss That, whatever worlds come after, A jolly old world is this.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, And whisper to me here, If you like me better than coffee, Than grog, or the bitter beer.
Oh! what are our biggest winnings, If peaceful content we miss?
Though fortune may give us an innings She seldom conveys us bliss.
You're better than all the fortunes That ever were made or broke; For a penny will always fill And buy me content with a smoke.
WRONGFELLOW.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the waters blue.
To laugh and float While rocks the boat Upon the waves,--Don't you?
To rest the oar And float to shore,-- While soft the moonbeams shine,-- To laugh and joke, And idly smoke; I think is quite divine.
ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
"A FREE PUFF."
Do you remember when first we met?
I was turning twenty--well! I don't forget How I walked along, Humming a song Across the fields and down the lane By the country road, and back again To the dear old farm--three miles or more-- And brought you home from the village store.
Summer was passing--don't you recall The splendid harvest we had that Fall, And how when the Autumn died,--sober and brown,-- We trudged down the turnpike, and on to the town?
Sweet black brierwood pipe of mine!
If you were human you'd be half divine, For when I've looked beyond the smoke, into your burning bowl In times of need You've been, indeed, The only comfort, sweetest solace, of my overflowing soul.
We've been together nearly thirty years, old fellow!
And now, you must admit, we're both a trifle mellow.
We have had our share of joys and a deal of sorrows, And while we're only waiting for a few more to-morrows, Others will come, and others will go, And Time will gather what Youth will sow; But we together will go down the rough Road to the end, and to the end--puff.
ARTHUR IRVING GRAY.
MY MEERSCHAUM PIPE.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred and blackened form, For thou to me wilt ever be-- Whate'er betides the storm-- A casket filled with memories Of life's Auroral morn.
Thou once wert fair like ivory rare; Spotless as lily white; Thy curving lines, like tendril'd vines, Were pleasing to the sight, And in thine ample bowl there lurked A promise of delight.
Like incense flung from censer swung Before some sculptured shrine, To float along with prayer and song To realms of bliss divine,-- Ascend thy fragrant wreaths of smoke And with my thoughts entwine.
Old pipe, old friend, o'er thee doth bend The rainbow hues of life, While sorrows roll across my soul, And peace is turned to strife, And Faith drifts o'er a sea of doubt With desolation rife.
Alas, that man or pipe e'er can Wax old or know decay; Alas, that heart from heart must part, Or Love can lose its sway.
And death in life should cast its pall Athwart the troubled way.
Tho' love be cross'd, and friends are lost, And severed every tie; Tho' hopes are dead and joys have fled, And darkened is the sky; We yet can warm each other's hearts, Old meerschaum pipe and I.