44 POETRY OF SMOKE. 



Wanting thee ; thou 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. 



Scent to match thy rich perfume 

 Through his 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. 



Stinking'st of the stinking kind, 

 Filth of the mouth and fogs 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, 

 fcuch as perplexed lovers use 



