We now pass beyond the utmost limits to which a "scientific" theory of things ghostly can be pushed. Science admits, if asked, that it does not know everything. It is not _inconceivable_ that living minds may communicate by some other channel... Read more of Appearances Of The Dead at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...



EDIFYING REFLECTIONS OF A TOBACCO-SMOKER.








_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANSLATED BY
EDWARD BRECK._



As oft I fill my faithful pipe,
To while away the moments glad,
With fragrant leaves, so rich and ripe,
My mind perceives an image sad,
So that I can but clearly see
How very like it is to me.

My pipe is made of earth and clay,
From which my mortal part is wrought;
I, too, must turn to earth some day.
It often falls, as quick as thought,
And breaks in two,--puts out its flame;
My fate, alas! is but the same!

My pipe I color not, nor paint;
White it remains, and hence 'tis true
That, when in Death's cold arms I faint,
My lips shall wear the ashen hue;
And as it blackens day by day,
So black the grave shall turn my clay!

And when the pipe is put alight
The smoke ascends, then trembles, wanes,
And soon dissolves in sunshine bright,
And but the whitened ash remains.
'Tis so man's glory crumble must,
E'en as his body, into dust!

How oft the filler is mislaid;
And, rather than to seek in vain,
I use my finger in its stead,
And fancy as I feel the pain,
If coals can burn to such degree,
How hot, O Lord, must Hades be!

So in tobacco oft I find,
Lessons of such instructive type;
And hence with calm, contented mind
I live, and smoke my faithful pipe
In reverence where'er I roam,--
On land, on water, and at home.





Next: THE LOST LOTUS.

Previous: INGIN SUMMER.



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