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geleeue me stile, as I have ever beece
Ide steadfast lever of refellerer med
my keelleneb, luces ytkiley beleerleg;
Muy crue thee with Thutba murkha buced to
Frice seed leg blero redeenced betreetlep erung;
Each fetter brokew but he fedren time,

Tohi Guohittin)

POEMS OF TEMPERANCE AND LABOR.

TEMPERANCE.

MORAL COSMETICS.

The plain truth will seem to be

A constrained hyperbole, Ye who would have your features florid,

And the passion to proceed
Lithe limbs, bright eyes, unwrinkled forehead,

More from a mistress than a weed.
From age's devastation horrid, ,
Adopt this plan, —

Sooty retainer to the vine !
'T will make, in climate cold or torrid, Bacchus' black servant, negro fine !
A hale old man.

Sorcerer! that mak'st us dote upon

| Thy begrimed complexion, Avoid in youth luxurious diet,

And, for thy pernicious sake, Restrain the passions' lawless riot ;

More and greater oaths to break
Devoted to domestic quiet,

Than reclaimed lovers take
Be wisely gay;

'Gainst women! Thou thy siege dost lay So shall ye, spite of age's fiat,

Much, too, in the female way,
Resist decay.

While thou suck'st the laboring breath

Faster than kisses, or than death.
Seek not in Mammon's worship pleasure,
But find your richest, dearest treasure

Thou in such a cloud dost bind us
In God, his word, his work, not leisure : | That our worst foes cannot find us,
The mind, not sense,

And ill fortune, that would thwart us,
Is the sole scale by which to measure

Shoots at rovers, shooting at us ;
Your opulence.

While each man, through thy heightening steam,

Does like a smoking Etna seem; This is the solace, this the science,

And all about us does express Life's purest, sweetest, best appliance,

(Fancy and wit in richest dress) That disappoints not man's reliance,

A Sicilian fruitfulness.
Whate'er his state ;
But challenges, with calm defiance,

Thou through such a mist dost show us
Time, fortune, fate.

That our best friends do not know us,
| And, for those allowed features
Due to reasonable creatures,

Liken'st us to fell chimeras,
A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.

Monsters, — that who see us, fear us ;

Worse than Cerberus or Geryon,
May the Babylonish curse

Or, who first loved a cloud, Ixion.
Straight confound my stammering verse,
If I can a passage see

Bacchus we know, and we allow
In this word-perplexity,

His tipsy rites. But what art thou, Or a fit expression find,

That but by reflex canst show Or a language to my mind

What his deity can do, — (Still the phrase is wide or scant),

As the false Egyptian spell
To take leave of thee, GREAT PLANT! Aped the true Hebrew miracle ?
Or in any terms relate

Some few vapors thou mayst raise
Half my love, or half my hate ;

The weak brain may serve to amaze ; For I hate, yet love, thee so,

But to the reins and nobler heart That, whichever thing I show,

| Canst nor life nor heat impart.

HORACE SMITH.

Or, as men, constrained to part With what's nearest to their heart, While their sorrow 's at the height Lose discrimination quite, And their hasty wrath let fall, To appease their frantic gall, On the darling thing, whatever, Whence they feel it death to sever, Though it be, as they, perforce, Guiltless of the sad divorce.

Brother of Bacchus, later born!
The old world was sure forlorn,
Wanting thee, that aidest more
The god's victories than, before,
All his panthers, and the brawls
Of his piping Bacchanals.
These, as stale, we disallow,
Or judge of thee meant : only thou
His true Indian conquest art;
And, for ivy round his dart,
The reformed god now weaves
A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.

Scent to match thy rich perfume
Chemic art did ne'er presume,
Through her quaint alembic strain,
None so sovereign to the brain.
Nature, that did in thee excel,
Framed again no second smell.
Roses, violets, but toys
For the smaller sort of boys,
Or for greener damsels meant ;
Thou art the only manly scent.

Stinkingest of the stinking kind !
Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind!
Africa, that brags her foison,
Breeds no such prodigious poison !
Henbane, nightshade, both together,
Hemlock, aconite -

Nay, rather, Plant divine, of rarest virtue ; Blisters on the tongue would hurt you ! 'T was but in a sort I blamed thee ; None e'er prospered who defamed thee; Irony all, and feigned abuse, Such as perplexed lovers use At a need, when, in despair To paint forth their fairest fair, Or in part but to express That exceeding comeliness Which their fancies doth so strike, They borrow language of dislike; And, instead of dearest Miss, Jewel, honey, sweetheart, bliss, And those forms of old admiring, Call her cockatrice and siren, Basilisk, and all that's evil, Witch, hyena, mermaid, devil, Ethiop, wench, and blackamoor, Monkey, ape, and twenty more ; Friendly traitress, loving foe, -Not that she is truly so, But no other way they know, A contentment to express Borders so upon excess That they do not rightly wot Whether it be from pain or not.

For I must (nor let it grieve thee, Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee. For thy sake, Tobacco, I Would do anything but die, And but seek to extend my days Long enough to sing thy praise. But, as she who once hath been A king's consort is a queen Ever after, nor will bate Any tittle of her state Though a widow, or divorced, So I, from thy converse forced, The old name and style retain, A right Katherine of Spain; And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys Of the blest Tobacco Boys; Where, though I, by sour physician, Am debarred the full fruition Of thy favors, I may catch Some collateral sweets, and snatch Sidelong odors, that give life Like glances from a neighbor's wife; And still live in the by-places And the suburbs of thy graces ; And in thy borders take delight, An unconquered Canaanite.

CHARLES LAMB.

THE VAGABONDS.

We are two travelers, Roger and I.

Roger 's my dog :- come here, you scamp ! Jump for the gentlemen, — mind your eye!

Over the table, - look out for the lamp!The rogue is growing a little old; Five years we've tramped through wind and

weather, And slept out-doors when nights were cold,

And ate and drank-and starved together.

We've learned what comfort is, I tell you !

A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin,
A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow !

The paw he holds up there's been frozen),
Plenty of catgut for my fiddle

(This out-door business is bad for the strings),

Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, I'd sell out heaven for something warm
And Roger and I set up for kings !

To prop a horrible inward sinking.
No, thank ye, sir, — I never drink;

Is there a way to forget to think? Roger and I are exceedingly moral,

At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends, Are n't we, Roger?— see him wink!

A dear girl's love, — but I took to drink, Well, something hot, then, — wewon't quarrel. The same old story ; you know how it ends. He's thirsty too, — see him nod his head ? If you could have seen these classic features, — What a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk !

You need n't laugh, sir; they were not then He understands every word that 's said, — Such a burning libel on God's creatures ;

And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. I was one of your handsome men !

The truth is, sir, now I reflect,

If you had seen her, so fair and young, I've been so sadly given to grog,

Whose head was happy on this breast ! I wonder I've not lost the respect

If you could have heard the songs I sung (Here's to you, sir !) even of my dog.

When the wine went round, you would n't But he sticks by through thick and thin ;

have guessed And this old coat, with its empty pockets, That ever I, sir, should be straying And rags that smell of tobacco and gin,

From door to door, with fiddle and dog, He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. Ragged and penniless, and playing

To you to-night for a glass of grog! There is n't another creature living

Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, She's married since, - a parson's wife; So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving

'T was better for her that we should part, — To such a miserable, thankless master! Better the soberest, prosiest life No, sir ! - see him wag his tail and grin!

Than a blasted home and a broken heart. By George ! it makes my old eyes water !- I have seen her ? Once : I was weak and spent That is, there's something in this gin

On the dusty road, a carriage stopped ; That chokes a fellow. But no matter ! But little she dreamed, as on she went,

Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped ! We'll have some music, if you 're willing, And Roger (hem ! what a plague a cough is, You've set me talking, sir ; I'm sorry; sir !)

It makes me wild to think of the change! Shall march a little. Start, you villain ! | What do you care for a beggar's story? Stand straight! 'Bout face! Salute your offi- Is it amusing ? you find it strange ? cer!

I had a mother so proud of me! Put up that paw! Dress! Take your rifle! I 'Twas well she died before- Do you know (Soine dogs have arms, you see !) Now hold If the happy spirits in heaven can see your

The ruin and wretchedness here below ?
Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle,
To aid a poor old patriot soldier !

Another glass, and strong, to deaden

This pain ; then Roger and I will start. March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, When he stands up to hear his sentence.

| Aching thing in place of a heart ? Now tell us how many drams it takes

He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, To honor a jolly new acquaintance.

No doubt, remembering things that were, -
Five yelps, – that's five ; he's mighty knowing ! A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food,
The night's before us, fill the glasses !

And himself a sober, respectable cur.
Quick, sir! I'm ill, — my brain is going !
Some brandy, - thank you, – there !- it I'm better now; that glass was warming.
passes !

You rascal ! limber your lazy feet!

We must be fiddling and performing Why not reform ? That's easily said,

For supper and bed, or starve in the street. But I've gone through such wretched treat- Not a very gay life to lead, you think? ment,

But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread,

And the sleepers need neither victuals nor And scarce remembering what meat meant,

drink ;That my poor stomach 's past reform ;

The sooner the better for Roger and me! And there are times when, mad with thinking, I

J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

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