At _Lundyfoot_ I am no hand, Seldom its dust I take, ah! Each day or so, by turns, I go From STRASBURG to JAMAICA." "'Tis well, my boy," return'd the tar, "Such journeys you can wend, For fuel here don't go so far, Here's plenty of WALLS-END." Of future scenes of happiness, The tar he often spoke; But they, indeed, as you may guess, But ended all in SMOKE. At length there money came one day,-- Each left the walls unkind; The tar went out--yet strange to say, His ASHES left behind! ODE ON TOBACCO. Gently o'er my senses stealing, Indian-weed, I love thee well; Raising, soothing, passion's feeling, Who can all thy magic tell: Who can paint the soft entrancing, All thy virtues who can know? Moving visions, sweetly glancing, Giving joy and calming woe. Tell me, do the proud ones scorn ye, Does the monarch on his throne, In the countries where are born ye, In the lands of either zone; Prince and beggar, both caress thee, And to thee their homage pay; From Ind to Lapland, myriads bless thee, All bow to thy sovereign sway. True, there are some soft ones ever, Like a drop within the sea; Weak in nerves, yet vastly clever, Who have vainly 'countered thee: But thy strength, their own excelling, Moves the wrath they cannot quell; Envy makes their breast its dwelling, And the grapes are sour as[23]---- STANZAS TO A LADY. IN DEFENCE OF SMOKING. What taught me first sweet peace to blend, With hopes and fears that knew no end, My dearest, truest, fondest friend? My pipe, love! What cheer'd me in my boyhood's hour, When first I felt Love's witching power, To bear deceit,--false woman's dow'r? My pipe, love! What still upheld me since the guile, Attendant on false friendship's smile, And I in hope, deceiv'd the while? My pipe, love! What cheer'd me when misfortunes came, And all had flown me?--still the same, My only true and constant flame, My pipe, love! What sooth'd me in a foreign land, And charm'd me with its influence bland, Still whisp'ring comfort, hand in hand? My pipe, love! What charm'd me in the thoughts of past, When mem'ry's gleam my eyes o'ercast, And burns to serve me to the last? My pipe, love! THE LAST QUID. He seiz'd the quid,--'twas hard and dry, The last one in its nook; The beggar'd sailor heav'd a sigh,-- Despair was in his look. And have I fought, and bled in vain, Are all my comforts o'er-- When shall I see thy like again, Thou last one of my store.