As the false Egyptian spell
Aped the true Hebrew miracle?
Some few vapours thou mayest raise,
The weak brain may serve to amaze,
But to the reins and nobler heart
Canst nor life nor heat impart.

Brother of Bacchus, later born,
The old world was sure forlorn
Wanting thee, that aidest more
The god's victories than before
All his panthers, and the brawls
Of his piping Bacchanals.
These, as stale, we disallow,
Or judge of thee meant: only thou
His true Indian conquest art;
And, for ivy round his dart,
The reformed god now weaves
A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.

A scent to match thy rich perfume Chemic art did ne'er presume Through her quaint alembic strain, None so sovereign to the brain. Nature, that did in thee excel, Framed again no second smell. Roses, violets, but toys For the smaller sort of boys,

Or for greener damsels meant;
Thou art the only manly scent.

Stinkingest of the stinking kind, Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind, Africa, that brags her foison, Breeds no such prodigious poison, Henbane, nightshade, both together, Hemlock, aconite

Nay, rather, Plant divine, of rarest virtue; Blisters on the tongue would hurt you. 'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee; None e'er prospered who defamed thee; Irony all, and feigned abuse, Such as perplexed 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 Traitoress, 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 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 Katherine 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 favours, I may

catch
Some collateral sweets, and snatch
Sidelong odours, that give life
Like glances from a neighbour's wife;
And still live in the by-places
And the suburbs of thy graces ;
And in thy borders take delight,
An unconquered Canaanite.

LINES

SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF TWO FEMALES BY LEONARDO

DA VINCI.

The lady Blanch, regardless of all her lover's fears, To the Urs’line convent hastens, and long the Abbess

hears, 60 Blanch, my child, repent ye of the courtly life

ye lead."

Blanch looked on a rose-bud and little seemed to

heed. She looked on the rose-bud, she looked round, and

thought On all her heart had whispered, and all the Nun had

taught. “I am worshipped by lovers, and brightly shines my

fame, All Christendom resoundeth the noble Blanch's name. Nor shall I quickly wither like the rose-bud from the

tree, My queen-like graces shining when my beauty's

gone from me. But when the sculptured marble is raised o'er my

head, And the matchless Blanch lies lifeless among the

noble dead,