Pipe and Pouch Part 26

'Tis a fragrant retrospection, for the loving thoughts that start Into being are like perfumes from the blossom of the heart; And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine-- When my truant fancies wander with that old sweetheart of mine.

Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings, The voices of my children and the mother as she sings, I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream.

In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm; For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine.

A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace, Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase; And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes, As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies.

I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress She wore when first I kissed her, and she answered the caress With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine Grew round the stump," she loved me,--that old sweetheart of mine!

And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand, As we used to talk together of the future we had planned: When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do But write the tender verses that she set the music to;

When we should live together in a cozy little cot, Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine, And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine;

And I should be her lover forever and a day, And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray; And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb They would not smile in heaven till the other's kiss had come.

But ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, And the door is softly opened, and my wife is standing there!

Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine.

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.

A PIPE OF TOBACCO.

Let the learned talk of books, The glutton of cooks, The lover of Celia's soft smack--O!

No mortal can boast So n.o.ble a toast As a pipe of accepted tobacco.

Let the soldier for fame, And a general's name, In battle get many a thwack--O!

Let who will have most, Who will rule the rooste, Give me but a pipe of tobacco.

Tobacco gives wit To the dullest old cit, And makes him of politics crack--O!

The lawyers i' the hall Were not able to bawl, Were it not for a whiff of tobacco.

The man whose chief glory Is telling a story, Had never arrived at the smack--O!

Between ever heying, And as I was saying, Did he not take a whiff of tobacco.

The doctor who places Much skill in grimaces, And feels your pulse running tic-tack--O!

Would you know his chief skill?

It is only to fill And smoke a good pipe of tobacco.

The courtiers alone To this weed are not p.r.o.ne; Would you know what 'tis makes them so slack--O?

'Twas because it inclined To be honest the mind, And therefore they banished tobacco.

HENRY FIELDING.

Friend of my youth, companion of my later days.

What needs my Muse to sing thy various praise?

In country or in town, on land or sea, The weed is still delightful company.

In joy or sorrow, grief or racking pain, We fly to thee for solace once again.

Delicious plant, by all the world consumed, 'Tis pity thou, like man, to ashes too art doom'd.

ANON.

Tobacco, some say, is a potent narcotic, That rules half the world in a way quite despotic; So, to punish him well for his wicked and merry tricks, We'll burn him forthwith, as they used to do heretics.

TO MY CIGAR.

The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes happy thoughts flow, And drives sorrow afar.

The stronger the wind blows, The brighter thou burnest!

The dreariest of life's woes, Less gloomy thou turnest!

As I feel on my lip Thy unselfish kiss, Like thy flame-colored tip, All is rosy-hued bliss.

No longer does sorrow Lay weight on my heart; And all fears of the morrow, In joy-dreams depart.

Sweet cheerer of sadness!

Life's own happy star!

I greet thee with gladness, My friendly cigar!

FRIEDRICH MARC.

CIGARS AND BEER.

Here With my beer I sit, While golden moments flit.

Alas!

They pa.s.s Unheeded by; And, as they fly, I, Being dry, Sit idly sipping here My beer.

Oh, finer far Than fame or riches are The graceful smoke-wreaths of this cigar!

Why Should I Weep, wail, or sigh?

What if luck has pa.s.sed me by?

What if my hopes are dead, My pleasures fled?

Have I not still My fill Of right good cheer,-- Cigars and beer?