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a web of many textures

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The Baron he liveth a happy life —
O, a happy man is he!
For his mind has no shade of care or strife,
And its fancies are bright and free.
No acres broad doth the Baron boast,
But his heart is rich as a king's,
And that dominion he craves the most
Is what good fellowship brings,
As he laughs,
As he quaffs,
In the light which his happiness flings.
And the bold Baron sits in a regal way —
His retainers are friends most true,
And he rules them at will by the magical play
Of his fancies rich and new.
His sceptre 's a Cuba, of title proud,
Betipped with a glowing star,
And his crown is a circle of fragrant cloud,
More graceful than jewels are,
As he puffs,
As he snuffs
His odorous, sweet cigar.
No malice he bears in his genial breast,
No bitter thoughts he knows;
So full of his own broad friendship blest,
No room has he for foes.
He welcomes a friend with a loving cheer,
With the clasp of a generous hand,
No human ice in his sunshine clear
Can ever unmelted stand;
And he smiles
And beguiles
By the heart's own kind command.
And long may the Baron his rule preserve,
And his castle doors be stout,
With garrisoned larder and cellar to serve
To keep the enemy out;


Page 115
And when in the evening of life the gale
Shall bear him from Time's rough coast,
May he speed o'er the sea with a willing sail,
To the haven desired most,
And his elegy
The world shall see
Recorded in the Post.