« PreviousContinue »
IMITATION III.- JAMES THOmson.
Prorumpit ad æthera nubem
Turbine, fumantem piceo.
O Thou, matur’d by glad Hesperian suns,
Tobacco, fountain pure of ' limpid truth,
That looks the very soul; whence pouring thought
Swarms all the mind; absorpt is yellow care,
2 And at each puff imagination burns :
Flash on thy bard, and with exalting fires
Touch the mysterious lip, that chaunts thy praise
In strains to mortal sons of earth unknown.
Behold an engine, wrought from tawny mines
Of ductile clay with 3 plastic virtue form’d,
And glaz'd magnific o'er, I grasp, I fill.
From Pætotheke 4 with pungent pow’rs perfum'd,
s Itself one tortoise all, where shines imbib'd
Each parent' ray; then rudely ramm'd illume,
With the red touch of zeal-enkindling sheet,
• Mark'd with Gibsonian lore; forth issue clouds,
Thought-thrilling, thirst-inciting clouds around,
And many-mining fires; I all the while,
Lolling at ease, ? inhale the breezy balm.
But chief, when Bacchus wont with thee to join,
In genial strife and orthodoxal ale,
8 Steam life and joy into the Muse's bowl.
Oh, be thou still my great inspirer, thou
My Muse! Oh fan me with thy zephyr's boon,
While I, in clouded tabernacle shrin'd,
Burst forth all oracle and mystic song!
- Bullatis mihi nugis Pagina turgescat—dare pondus idonea fumo. Pers. Critics, avaunt! Tobacco is my theme; Tremble like hornets at the blasting steam! And you, court-insects, flutter not too near Its light, nor buzz within the scorching sphere.
6 Poem on Liberty, ver. 247, alluding to the Pastoral Letters of Bishop Gibson. 7 Ibid.ver.309. 8 Ibid.ver.171.
Pollio, with flame like thine, my verse inspire ;
So shall the Muse from smoke elicit fire.
Coxcombs prefer the tickling sting of snuff';
Yet all their claim to wisdom is a puff.
Lord Foplin smokes not-for his teeth afraid:
Sir Tawdry smokes not-for he wears brocade.
Ladies, when pipes are brought, affect to swoon:
They love no smoke, except the smoke of town;
But courtiers hate the puffing tribe--no matter,
Strange if they love the breath that cannot flatter!
Its foes bụit shew their ignorance; can he
Who scorns the leaf of knowledge, love the tree?
The tainted Templar (more prodigious yet)
Rails at Tobacco, though it makes him-spit.
Citrona vows it has an odious stink;
She will not smoke (ye gods!)-but she will drink:
And chaste Prudella (blame her if you can)
Says, pipes are us’d by that vile creature Man:
Yet crowds remain, who still its worth proclaim,
While some for pleasure smoke, and some for fame:
Fame, of our actions universal spring,
For which we drink,eat,sleep, smoke-every thing.
Brest LEAF! whose aromatic gales dispense
To Templars modesty, to Parsons sense:
So raptur'd priests, at fam'd Dordona's shrine
Drank inspiration from the steam divine.
Poison that cures, a vapour that affords
Content, more solid than the smile of lords :
Rest to the weary, to the hungry food,
The last kind refuge of the wise and good.
Inspir'd by thee, dull cits adjust the scale
Of Europe's peace, when other statesmen fail.
By thee protected, and thy sister, Beer,
Poets rejoice, nor think the bailiff near.
Nor less the critic owns thy genial aid,
While supperless he plies the piddling trade.
What though to love and soft delights a foc,
By ladies hated, hated by the beau,
Yet social freedom, long lo courts unknown, Fair health, fair truth, and virtue, are thy own. Come to thy poet, come with healing wings, And let me taste thee unexcis'd by kings!
Boy! bring an ounce of Freeman’s best,
And bid the vicar be my guest:
Let all be plac'd in manner due,
A pot wherein to spit or spue,
And London Journal, and Free-Briton,
Of use to light a pipe or * *
This village, unmolested yet
By troopers, shall be my retreat :
Tro ministerial newspapers.