Scent to match thy rich perfume Chemic art did ne'er presume Through her quaint alembic strain, None so sov'reign 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.

Stinking'st of the stinking land, 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 prosper'd who defamed thee Irony all, and feign'd abuse, Such as perplex'd 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 Trait'ress, 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, constrain'd 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 any thing 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 title 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 debarr'd the full fruition Of thy favors, I may catch Some collateral sweets, and snatch Sidelong odors, that give life like glances from a neighbor's wife; And still live in the by-places And the suburbs of thy graces; And in thy holders take delight, An unconquer'd Canaanite.

WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO ABYDOS.

BYRON.

If, in the month of dark December, Leander, who was nightly wont, (What maid will not the tale remember?) To cross thy stream broad Hellespont!

If, when the wint'ry tempest roar'd, He sped to Hero nothing loth, And thus of old thy current pour'd, Fair Venus! how I pity both!

For ME, degenerate, modern wretch, Though in the genial month of May, My dripping limbs I faintly stretch, And think I've done a feat to-day.

But since he crossed the rapid tide, According to the doubtful story, To woo--and--Lord knows what beside, And swam for Love, as I for Glory;