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POEMS OF TEMPERANCE AND LABOR.

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Believe me stile, as I have ever been Ide steadfast lover of my fellow mew, my weakness, lives ofherly leberty; weakness, with that all mankind aven

My

сшее

Free und by blord redeemed but but by cried;
Each filter broken buit in God's own time!
Johne G Whitter

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Eat the simplest food,

Drink the pure, cold water, Then you will be well,

Or at least you oughter.

ANONYMOUS.

A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.

MAY the Babylonish curse

Straight confound my stammering verse, If I can a passage see

In this word-perplexity,

Or a fit expression find,

Or a language to my mind

(Still the phrase is wide or scant),

To take leave of thee, great plant !
Or in any terms relate

Half my love, or half my hate;
For I hate, yet love, thee so,
That, whichever thing I show,
The plain truth will seem to be
A constrained hyperbole,
And the passion to proceed
More for a mistress than a weed.

Sooty retainer to the vine!
Bacchus's black servant, negro fine!
Sorcerer! that mak'st us dote upon
Thy begrimed complexion,

And, for thy pernicious sake,
More and greater oaths to break

Than reclaiméd lovers take

'Gainst women! Thou thy siege dost lay Much, too, in the female way,

While thou suck'st the laboring breath

Faster than kisses, or than death.

Thou in such a cloud dost bind us

That our worst foes cannot find us,

And ill fortune, that would thwart us,

Shoots at rovers, shooting at us;

While each man, through thy heightening steam, Does like a smoking Etna seem;

And all about us does express

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Irony all, and feigned abuse,
Such as perplext 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 trait'ress, 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.

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.

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 Catherine 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

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Go to my mother's side,

And her crushed spirit cheer; Thine own deep anguish hide, Wipe from her cheek the tear; Mark her dimmed eye, her furrowed brow, The gray that streaks her dark hair now, The toil-worn frame, the trembling limb, And trace the ruin back to him Whose plighted faith, in early youth, Promised eternal love and truth, But who, forsworn, hath yielded up This promise to the deadly cup, And led her down from love and light, From all that made her pathway bright,

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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, And Roger and I set up for kings!

No, thank ye, sir, I never drink;

Roger and I are exceedingly moral, Are n't we, Roger?- see him wink !·

Well, something hot, then, --we won't quarrel. He's thirsty too, see him nod his head? What a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk!

He understands every word that's said,
And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk.

The truth is, sir, now I reflect,

I've been so sadly given to grog,

I wonder I've not lost the respect
(Here's to you, sir !) even of my dog.
But he sticks by through thick and thin ;
And this old coat, with its empty pockets,
And rags that smell of tobacco and gin,

He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets.

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