Throughout the world who knows thee not? 
  Of palace and of lowly cot
        The universal guest,—­
  The friend of Gentile, Turk, and Jew,
  To all a stay, to none untrue,
  The balm that can our ills subdue,
        And soothe us into rest!

  With thee the poor man can abide
  Oppression, want, the scorn of pride,
        The curse of penury. 
  Companion of his lonely state,
  He is no longer desolate,
  And still can brave an adverse fate
        With honest worth and thee!

  All honor to the patriot bold
  Who brought, instead of promised gold,
        Thy leaf to Britain’s shore. 
  It cost him life; but thou shalt raise
  A cloud of fragrance to his praise,
  And bards shall hail in deathless lays
        The valiant knight of yore.

  Ay, Raleigh! thou wilt live till Time
  Shall ring his last oblivious chime,
        The fruitful theme of story;
  And man in ages hence shall tell
  How greatness, virtue, wisdom, fell,
  When England sounded out thy knell,
        And dimmed her ancient glory.

  And thou, O plant! shalt keep his name
  Unwithered in the scroll of fame,
        And teach us to remember;
  He gave with thee content and peace,
  Bestow’d on life a longer lease,
  And bidding every trouble cease,
        Made summer of December.

THOMAS JONES.

THE CIGAR.

  Some sigh for this and that,
    My wishes don’t go far;
  The world may wag at will,
    So I have my cigar.

  Some fret themselves to death
    With Whig and Tory jar;
  I don’t care which is in,
    So I have my cigar.

  Sir John requests my vote,
    And so does Mr. Marr;
  I don’t care how it goes,
    So I have my cigar.

  Some want a German row,
    Some wish a Russian war;
  I care not.  I’m at peace
    So I have my cigar.

  I never see the “Post,”
    I seldom read the “Star;”
  The “Globe” I scarcely heed,
    So I have my cigar.

  Honors have come to men
    My juniors at the Bar;
  No matter—­I can wait,
    So I have my cigar.

  Ambition frets me not;
    A cab or glory’s car
  Are just the same to me,
    So I have my cigar.

  I worship no vain gods,
    But serve the household Lar;
  I’m sure to be at home,
    So I have my cigar.

  I do not seek for fame,
    A general with a scar;
  A private let me be,
    So I have my cigar.

  To have my choice among
    The toys of life’s bazaar,
  The deuce may take them all
    So I have my cigar.

  Some minds are often tost
    By tempests like a tar;
  I always seem in port,
    So I have my cigar.

  The ardent flame of love,
    My bosom cannot char,
  I smoke but do not burn,
    So I have my cigar.