ON FAM E. LORD BYRON. H, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? 'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled : Then away with all such from the head that is hoary! What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? O Fame! if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, 76 ON FAME. Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. There chiefly I sought thee-there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee: When its spark led o'er aught that was bright in my story, I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. ODE TO TOBACCO. C. S. C. HOU who, when fears attack, Care, at the horseman's back Perching, unseatest; Sweet when the morn is grey; Sweet when they 've cleared away Lunch; and at close of day Possibly sweetest : I have a liking old For thee, though manifold Stories, I know, are told Not to thy credit; 78 ODE TO TOBACCO. How one (or two at most) Drops make a cat a ghost Useless, except to roast― Doctors have said it. How they who use fuzees Meagre as lizards; Go mad, and beat their wives; Plunge (after shocking lives) Razors and carving-knives Into their gizzards. Confound such knavish tricks! Yet I know five or six Smokers, who freely mix Still with their neighbours; Jones (who, I'm glad to say, Asked leave of Mrs J.) Daily absorbs a clay After his labours. |