Companion of his lonely state,
He is no longer desolate,
And still can brave an adverse fate
With honest worth and thee!
All honor to the patriot bold
Who brought, instead of promised gold,
Thy leaf to Britain's shore.
It cost him life; but thou shalt raise
A cloud of fragrance to his praise,
And bards shall hail in deathless lays
The valiant knight of yore.
Ay, Raleigh! thou wilt live till Time
Shall ring his last oblivious chime,
The fruitful theme of story;
And man in ages hence shall tell
How greatness, virtue, wisdom, fell,
When England sounded out thy knell,
And dimmed her ancient glory.
And thou, O plant! shalt keep his name
Unwithered in the scroll of fame,
And teach us to remember;
He gave with thee content and peace,
Bestow'd on life a longer lease,
And bidding every trouble cease,
Made summer of December.
THOMAS JONES.
THE CIGAR.
Some sigh for this and that,
My wishes don't go far;
The world may wag at will,
So I have my cigar.
Some fret themselves to death
With Whig and Tory jar;
I don't care which is in,
So I have my cigar.
Sir John requests my vote,
And so does Mr.
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