’Tis used in every clime,
  By all men, high and low;
  It is praised in prose and rhyme,
  And can but end with time;
  So let the kind herb grow!

  ’Tis a friend to the distress’d;
  ’Tis a comforter in need;
  It is social, soothing, blest;
  It has fragrance, force, and zest;
  Then hail the kingly weed!

ANON.

TOO GREAT A SACRIFICE.

  The maid, as by the papers doth appear,
  Whom fifty thousand dollars made so dear,
  To test Lothario’s passion, simply said,
  “Forego the weed before we go to wed. 
  For smoke, take flame; I’ll be that flame’s bright fanner. 
  To have your Anna, give up your Havana.” 
  But he, when thus she brought him to the scratch,
  Lit his cigar, and threw away his match.

ANON.

TO A PIPE OF TOBACCO.

  Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest,
    Belov’d and honored by the wise,
  Come filled with honest “Weekly’s best,”
    And kindled from the lofty skies.

  While round me clouds of incense roll,
    With guiltless joys you charm the sense,
  And nobler pleasure to the soul
    In hints of moral truth dispense.

  Soon as you feel th’ enliv’ning ray,
    To dust you hasten to return,
  And teach me that my earliest day
    Began to give me to the urn.

  But though thy grosser substance sink
    To dust, thy purer part aspires;
  This when I see, I joy to think
    That earth but half of me requires.

  Like thee, myself am born to die,
    Made half to rise, and half to fall. 
  Oh, could I, while my moments fly,
    The bliss you give me give to all!

Gentleman’s Magazine, July, 1745.

  In the smoke of my dear cigarito
    Cloud castles rise gorgeous and tall;
  And Eros, divine muchachito,
    With smiles hovers over it all.

  But dreaming, forgetting to cherish
    The fire at my lips as it dies,
  The dream and the rapture must perish,
    And Eros descend from the skies.

  O wicked and false muchachito,
    Your rapture I yet may recall;
  But, like my re-lit cigarito,
    A bitterness tinges it all.

CAMILLA K. VON K.

A GOOD CIGAR.

  Oh, ’tis well and enough,
  A whiff or a puff
  From the heart of a pipe to get;
  And a dainty maid
  Or a budding blade
  May toy with the cigarette;
  But a man, when the time
  Of a glorious prime
  Dawns forth like a morning star,
  Wants the dark-brown bloom
  And the sweet perfume
  That go with a good cigar.

  To lazily float
  In a painted boat
  On a shimmering morning sea,
  Or to flirt with a maid
  In the afternoon shade
  Seems good enough sport to be;
  But the evening hour,
  With its subtle power,
  Is sweeter and better far,
  If joined to the joy,
  Devoid of alloy,
  That lurks in a good cigar.