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 ligh
ning 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!


_The Island, Canto ii., Stanza 19._