With my ancient calumet
I can raise a wigwam's smoke,
And the copper tribe invoke,--
Scalps and wampum, bows and knives,
Slender maidens, greasy wives,
Papoose hanging on a tree,
Chieftains squatting silently,
Feathers, beads, and hideous paint,
Medicine-man and wooden-saint,--
Forest-framed the vision set.
My cigar breeds many forms,--
Planter of the rich Havana
Mopping brow with sheer bandanna,
Russian prince in fur arrayed,
Paris fop on dress parade,
London swell just after dinner,
Wall Street broker--gambling sinner!
Delver in Nevada mine,
Scotch laird bawling "Auld Lang Syne."
Thus Raleigh's weed my fancy warms.
Life's review in smoke goes past,--
Fickle fortune, stubborn fate,
Right discovered all too late,
Beings loved and gone before,
Beings loved but friends no more,
Self-reproach and futile sighs,
Vanity in birth that dies,
Longing, heart-break, adoration,--
Nothing sure in expectation
Save ash-receiver at the last.
IRVING BROWNE.
SMOKING SONG.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl,
As mist from the waterfall given,
Or the locks that float round beauty's throat
In the whispering air of even.
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