Nicotiana Part 2

This makes me sing, &c.

Tobacco is a whyffler, and cries huff, snuff, with furie; His pipes, his club, once linke--he's the wiser that does drinke,-- Thus armed I fear not a furie.

This makes me sing so-ho!--so-ho!--boys-- Ho! boys sound I loudly; Earth ne'er did breed such a jovial weed, Whereof to boast so proudly.

SNUFF.

--A delicate pinch! oh how it tingles up The t.i.tillated nose, and fills the eyes And breast, till, in one comfortable sneeze The full collected pleasure bursts at last!

Most rare Columbus! thou shalt be, for this, The only Christopher in my kalendar.

Why but for thee the uses of the nose Were half unknown, and its capacity Of joy. The summer gale, that, from the heath, At midnoon glittering with the golden furze, Bears its balsamic odours, but provokes, Not satisfies the sense, and all the flowers, That with their unsubstantial fragrance, tempt And disappoint, bloom for so short a s.p.a.ce, That half the year the nostrils would keep Lent, But that the kind tobacconist admits No winter in his work; when nature sleeps, His wheels roll on, and still administer A plenitude of joy, a tangible smell.

What is Peru, and those Brazilian mines, To thee, Virginia! miserable realms; They furnish gold for knaves, and gems for fools; But thine are _common_ comforts! to omit Pipe-panegyric and tobacco-praise, Think what a general joy the snuff-box gives Europe, and far above Pizarro's name Write Raleigh in thy records of renown!

Him let the school-boy bless if he behold His mother's box produced, for when he sees The thumb and finger of authority Stuffed up the nostrils, when hot head and wig Shake all; when on the waistcoat black, the dust Or drop falls brown, soon shall the brow severe Relax, and from vituperative lips, Words that of birch remind not, sounds of praise And jokes that _must_ be laughed at must proceed.

_Anthology_, Vol. II. p. 115.

THOU ART A CHARM FOR WINTER.

Nor here to pause--I own thy potent power, When chilling blasts a.s.sail our frigid clime, While flies the hail or rudely beats the shower, Or sad impatience chides the wings of time.

Come, then, my pipe, and let thy savoury cloud, Now wisdom seldom shews her rev'rend mien, Spread round my head a bland and shelt'ring shroud, When riot mingles mischief with the scene.

s.h.i.+eld me at evening from the selfish fool, The wretch who never felt for human woes, And while my conduct's framed by virtue's rule, Let only peace and honour interpose.

s.h.i.+eld me by day from hatred's threat'ning frowns, Still let thine aromatic curtains spread, When bold presumption mounts to put me down, And hurls his maledictions round my head.

Do this, my pipe, and till my sand's run out, I'll sing thy praise among the sons of wealth, Blest weed that bids the glutton lose his gout, And gains respect among the drugs of health.

No shrew shall harm thee, no mundungus foul Shall stain thy lining, as the ermine white; My choicest friends shall revel o'er thy bowl, And charm away the terrors of the night.

From ample h.o.a.rds I'll bring the fragrant spoils, The richest herb from Kerebequa's sh.o.r.es, That grateful weed, that props the British Isles, And Suss.e.x,[6] England's Royal Duke adores.

_The Social Pipe._

ALL NATIONS HONOR THEE.

'Tis not for me to sing thy praise alone, Where'er the merchant spreads his wind-bleach'd sails; Wherever social intercourse is known, There too thy credit, still the theme prevails.

The bearded Turk, majestically grand, In high divan upholds the jointed reeds; And clearer reasons on the case in hand, Till opposition to his lore concedes.

Thy potent charms delight the nabob's taste, Fixt on his elephant (half reasoning beast); He twines the gaudy hookah round his waist, And puffs thy incense to the breezy east.

The grave Bavarian, midst his half year's frost, Delights to keep thy ruby fins awake; And as in traffic's maze his fancy's tost, Light skims the icy surface of the lake.

The Indian Sachem at his wigwam-gate, By chiefs surrounded when the warfare ends, Seated in all the pomp of savage state, Circles the calumet[7] to cheer his friends.

The Frenchman loves thee in another way, He grinds thy leaves to make him scented snuff; Boasts of improvements, and presumes to say, France still the polish gives and we the _rough_.

Still let him boast, nor put John Bull to shame, His Gascon tales shall Englishmen divert; France for her trifles has been _dear_ to fame, From her the ruffle sprung, from us the s.h.i.+rt.

The lib'ral Spaniard and the Portuguese, Spread richest dainties brought from realms afar; Nor think their festive efforts form'd to please, Unless redundant breathes the light cigar.

So when our Druids inspiration sought, They burnt the misletoe to fume around; Th' inspiring vapours gave a strength to thought, They dealt out lore impressive and profound.

Methinks I see them with the mental eye, I hear their lessons with attention's ear; Of early fis.h.i.+ng with the summer fly, And many a pleasing tale to anglers dear.

The while they draw from the inspiring weed, They boast a charm the smoker owns supreme; And now diverted with the polish'd reed, Forego the little fish-house by the stream.

Tho' this be fancy, still it serves to shew, That Wisdom's sons have lov'd Columbia's pride; And shall, while waters round our island flow, Tho' fools and fops its healing breath deride.

Mem'ry still hold me in thy high esteem, For lonely setting upon the day's decline; Visions sublime, before my fancy gleam, And rich ideas from her stores combine.

_The Social Pipe._

WALTON AND COTTON.[8]

Our sires of old esteemed this healing leaf, Sacred to Bacchus and his rosy train; And many a country squire and martial chief, Have sung its virtues mid a long campaign.

Methinks I see Charles Cotton and his friend, The modest Walton from Augusta's town; Enter the fis.h.i.+ng house an hour to spend, And by the marble[9] table set them down.

Boy! bring me in the jug of Derby ale, My best tobacco and my smoking tray; The boy obedient brings the rich regale, And each a.s.sumes his pipe of polish'd clay.

Thus sang young Cotton, and his will obey'd, And snug the friends were seated at their ease; They light their tubes without the least parade, And give the fragrance to the playful breeze.

Now cloud on cloud parades the fisher's room, The Moreland ale rich sparkles to the sight; They draw fresh wisdom from the circling gloom, And deal a converse pregnant with delight.

The love-sick Switzer from his frozen lake, Lights thee to cheer him thro' the upland way; To her who sighs impatient for his sake, And thinks a moment loiter'd, is a moon's delay.

The hardy Scot amidst his mountain snow, When icy fetters bind the dreary vale, Draws from his muse the never-failing glow, And bids defiance to the rus.h.i.+ng gale.

The honest Cambrians round their cyder cask, In friends.h.i.+p meet the moments to solace; Tell all thy worth as circles round the ask, And cheerly sing of "Shenkin's n.o.ble race."

The hardy tar in foamy billows hid, While fiery flashes all around deform; Clings to the yard and takes his fav'rite _quid_, Smiles at the danger and defies the storm;

And when the foe with daring force appears, Recurrent to the sav'ry pouch once more, New vigour takes and three for George he cheers, As vict'ry smiles, and still the cannons roar.

The soldier loves thee on his dreary march, And when in battle dreadful armies join; 'Tis thou forbids his sulphur'd lips should parch, And gives new strength to charge along the line.

Thy acrid flavour to new toil invites The ploughman, drooping 'neath the noon-day beam; Inspir'd by thee, he thinks of love's delights, And down the furrow whistles to his team.

Thus all admire thee: search around the globe, The rich, the poor, the volatile, the grave; Save the SWEET fop, who fears to taint his robe, The smock-fac'd fribble, and the henpeck'd slave.

Thus all esteem thee, and to this agree, Thou art the drug preferr'd in ev'ry clime; To clear the head, and set the senses free, And lengthen life beyond the wonted time.

_The Social Pipe._

ON A PIPE OF TOBACCO.