. Tobacco in song and story . ather like the stern parental styleThat sways the city now. He made the while A rough decree. He ordered that the pipes should cease tosmoke. From that day people took the order as a joke ;They did not think, who smoked from child-hood one man such delight would seek to stop,Even in fun. But when at last it dawned upon their minds That this was meant,They closed their houses, shut their window-blinds. 58 POETRY OF SMOKE. Brought forth tobacco from their ample hoard,And to the governors house with one accordThe Burghers went. They carried chairs, and
. Tobacco in song and story . ather like the stern parental styleThat sways the city now. He made the while A rough decree. He ordered that the pipes should cease tosmoke. From that day people took the order as a joke ;They did not think, who smoked from child-hood one man such delight would seek to stop,Even in fun. But when at last it dawned upon their minds That this was meant,They closed their houses, shut their window-blinds. 58 POETRY OF SMOKE. Brought forth tobacco from their ample hoard,And to the governors house with one accordThe Burghers went. They carried chairs, and sat without a word Bef-re his porch,And smoked, and smoked, and not a sound was heard,Till Kieft came forth to take the morning air,With speech that would have burned themthen and there. If words could scorch. But they, however savagely he spoke, Made no and thicker rose the clouds of smoke,And Kieft, perceiving that they would be free,Tried not to put in force his harsh decree ; But let It die. —New York POETRY OF SMOKE. 59 BEER. [By George Arnold^ New York^ 1862^ Here, With my beer,I sit, While golden moments !They passUnheeded by:And as they fly, I,Being , idly sipping hereMy beer!Oh, finer farThan fame or riches are The graceful smoke wreaths of this free I Weep, wail, or sigh ?What if Luck has passed me by?What if my hopes are dead,My pleasures fled ;Have I not stillMy fill Of right good cheer-Cigars and beer?Go, whining !Go, weep and and grow pale, 60 POETRY OF SMOKE. Weave melancholy rhymes On the old times, Whose joys, like shadowy ghosts, appear But leave to me my beer ! Gold is dross, Love is loss. So, if I gulp my sorrows down. Or see them drown In foamy draughts of old nut-brown, Then do I wear the crown, Without the cross I Sir Walter Raleigh ! name of worth, How sweet for thee to knowKing James, who never smoked on earth. Is smoking down below. ON A TOBACCO JAR. Three hundred years ago
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjecttobacco, bookyear1896
