 | Poems |  |
52
TOBACCO.
Horace, you were born too soon!Half the things beneath the moon,
That make living light to men,
Known are now and known were then.
Dewy eyes and waving hair,
All the sweets of dark and fair,
Garden shades, Falernian wine,
Talk and friendship, nights divine,
These and many more were thine.
But our Raleigh was not born,
Who bade sorrow cease to mourn,
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Mellowed youth and brightened age:
Taught us talk was made for two,
Not to turn, as boys will do
And at times the elders too,
Flowing, cheerful dialogue
Into fearful monologue.
Moan, ye wits! ye smokers, moan!
Had Tobacco but been known,
When the centuries were young,
When our Horace lived and sung;
Straight his stile he would have took,
Added to his odes a book;
How Prometheus but began
Half the kindly task for man;
Raleigh gave us life indeed,
Heavenly fuel in the weed,
For the fire that filled the reed.
How Augustus thronèd high
Round the tables in the sky,
When the goddesses are gone,
And the couches closely drawn,
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But between his purple lips
Hangs his hookah, pleased and proud
Jove-like to compel a cloud.
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