I do not seek for fame, A general with a scar; A private let me be, So I have my cigar.
To have my choice among The toys of life's bazaar, The deuce may take them all So I have my cigar.
Some minds are often tost By tempests like a tar; I always seem in port, So I have my cigar.
The ardent flame of love, My bosom cannot char, I smoke but do not burn, So I have my cigar.
They tell me Nancy Low Has married Mr. R.; The jilt! but I can live, So I have my cigar.
THOMAS HOOD.
PIPE AND TOBACCO.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need not envy here; And as the smoke fades in the wind, Our fleeting life it brings to mind.
Noble weed! that comforts life, And art with calmest pleasures rife; Heaven grant thee sunshine and warm rain, And to thy planter health and gain.
Through thee, friend of my solitude, With hope and patience I'm endued, Deep sinks thy power within my heart, And cares and sorrows all depart.
Then let non-smokers rail forever; Shall their hard words true friends dissever?
Pleasure's too rare to cast away My pipe, for what the railers say!
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me, When friends are fled, thy presence charms me; If thou art full, though purse be bare, I smoke, and cast away all care!
_German Folk Song._
THE LATEST CONVERT.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Nellie, Katie, Mary-- To name them all would stretch my rhymes From here as far as Demerary.
But each has wed some other man,-- Girls always do, I find, in real life,-- And I am left alone to scan The horizon of my own ideal life.
I still survive. I was, I think, Not born to run in double harness; I did not shirk my food and drink When Nellie married Harry Carnice.
But I am wedded to my pipe!
That faithful friend, nought can provoke it; Should it grow cold, I gently wipe Its mouth, then fill it, light, and smoke it.
But it is sweet to kiss; and I Should love to kiss a wife and pet her-- She scolds? Straight to my pipe I fly; Her scowls through fragrant smoke look better.
There's merry Maud--with her I'd dare To brave the matrimonial ocean; _She_ would not pout or fret, but wear A constant smile of sweet devotion.
How know I that she will not change, My wishes at defiance set? Oh!
(Pray this in smallest type arrange) She smokes--at times--a cigareto.
F.W. LITTLETON HAY.
CONFESSION OF A CIGAR SMOKER.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole of my success; With my cigar I'm sage and wise,-- Without, I'm dull as cloudy skies.
When smoking, all my ideas soar, When not, they sink upon the floor.
The greatest men have all been smokers, And so were all the greatest jokers.
Then ye who'd bid adieu to care, Come here and smoke it into air.
ANON.
Sir Walter Raleigh! name of worth, How sweet for thee to know King James, who never smoked on earth, Is smoking down below.
THE SMOKER'S CALENDAR.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit cheers; And still it glads the length'ning day 'Neath February's milder sway.
When March's keener winds succeed, What charms me like the burning weed When April mounts the solar car, I join him, puffing a cigar; And May, so beautiful and bright, Still finds the pleasing weed a-light.
To balmy zephyrs it gives zest When June in gayest livery's drest.
Through July, Flora's offspring smile, But still Nicotia's can beguile; And August, when its fruits are ripe, Matures my pleasure in a pipe.
September finds me in the garden, Communing with a long churchwarden.
Even in the wane of dull October I smoke my pipe and sip my "robar."
November's soaking show'rs require The smoking pipe and blazing fire.
The darkest day in drear December's-- That's lighted by their glowing embers.
ANON.
AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, So I turn the leaves of Fancy, till in shadowy design I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.
The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, As I turn it low, to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke Its fate with my tobacco, and to vanish with the smoke.