Many years ago, the few readers of radical Abolitionist papers must often have seen the singular name of Sojourner Truth, announced as a frequent speaker at Anti-Slavery meetings, and as travelling on a sort of self-appointed agenc... Read more of SOJOURNER TRUTH, THE LIBYAN SIBYL at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

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

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

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

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...



SUBLIME TOBACCO.








But here the herald of the self-same mouth
Came breathing o'er the aromatic South,
Not like a "bed of violets" on the gale,
But such as wafts its cloud o'er grog or ale,
Borne from a short, frail pipe, which yet had blown
Its gentle odors over either zone,
And, puff'd where'er minds rise or waters roll,
Had wafted smoke from Portsmouth to the Pole,
Opposed its vapor as the lightning flash'd,
And reek'd, 'midst mountain billows unabashed,
To AEolus a constant sacrifice,
Through every change of all the varying skies.
And what was he who bore it? I may err,
But deem him sailor or philosopher.
Sublime tobacco! which from east to west
Cheers the tar's labor or the Turkman's rest;
Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides
His hours, and rivals opiums and his brides;
Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand,
Though not less loved, in Wapping on the Strand;
Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe,
When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe;
Like other charmers, wooing the caress
More dazzlingly when daring in full dress;
Yet thy true lovers more admire by far
Thy naked beauties,--give me a cigar!

LORD BYRON:

_The Island, Canto ii., Stanza 19._





Next: SMOKING AWAY.

Previous: THE DREAMER'S PIPE.



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