The legend of Parson Rudall and the Botathen Ghost will be recognised by many Cornish people as a local remembrance of their boyhood. It appears from the diary of this learned master of the grammar-school--for such was his office, as ... Read more of The Botathen Ghost at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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

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

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

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

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

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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



THE PIPE CRITIC.








Say, pipe, let's talk of love;
Canst aid me? By my life,
I'll ask not gods above
To help me choose a wife;
But to thy gentle self I'll give the puzzling strife.

Thy color let me find,
And blue like smoke her eyes;
A healthy store her mind
As that which in thee lies,--
An evanescent draft, whose incense mounts the skies.

And, pipe, a breath like thine;
Her hair an amber gold,
And wrought in shapes as fine
As that which now I hold;
A grace in every limb, her form thy slender mould.

And when her lips I kiss,
Oh, may she burn like thee,
And strive to give me bliss!
A comforter to be
When friends wax cold, time fades, and all departs from me.

And may she hide in smoke,
As you, my friend, have done,
The failings that would choke
My virtues every one,
Turn grief to laughing jest, or painful thought to fun.

Her aid be such as thine
To stir my brain a bit.
When 'round this hearth of mine
Friends sit and banter wit,
She'll shape a well-turned phrase, a subtle jest to hit.

In short, my sole delight
(Why, pipe, you sputter so!),
Whose angel visage bright
(And at me ashes throw!)
Shall never rival fear. You're jealous now, I know.

Nay, pipe, I'll not leave thee;
For of thy gifts there's one
That's passing dear to me
Whose equal she'd have none,--
The gift of peace serene; she'd have, alas, a tongue!

WALTER LITTLEFIELD.





Next: A SONG WITHOUT A NAME.

Previous: MY CIGARETTE.



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