"My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses,
While you are a nuisance where'er you appear;
There is nothing but snivelling and blowing of noses,
Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to hear."
Then, lifting his lid in a delicate way,
And opening his mouth with a smile quite engaging.
The Box in reply was heard plainly to say,
"What a silly dispute is this we are Waging!
"If you have a little of merit to claim,
You may thank the sweet-smelling Virginian weed;
And I, if I seem to deserve any blame,
The before-mentioned drug in apology plead.
"Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own,
No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus;
We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone,
But of anything else they may choose to put in us."
WM. COWPER.
A LOSS.
How hard a thing it is to part
From those we love and cherish;
How deeply does it pain one's heart
To know all things must perish!
And when a friend and comrade dear
Is lost to us forever,
We feel how frail are all things here,
Since e'en best friends must sever.
I, too, have lost a friend, who broke
Its power when care was near me;
And troubles disappeared in smoke
When he was by to cheer me.
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