

POETRY OF SMOKE. 6l 



'TWAS OFF THE BLUE 

 CANARIES. 



'TWAS off the blue Canary Isles, 



A glorious summer day, 

 I sat upon the quarter-deck, 



And whiffed my cares away ; 

 And as the volumed smoke arose, 



Like incense in the air, 

 I breathed a sigh to think, in sooth, 



It was my last cigar. 



I leaned upon the quarter rail, 



Aud looked down in the sea ; 

 E'en there the purple wreath of smoke 



Was curling gracefully ; 

 Oh ! what had I at such a time 



To do with wasting care ? 

 Alas I the trembling tear proclaimed 



It was my last cigar. 



I watched the ashes as it came 



Fast drawing to an end ; 

 I watched it as a friend would watch 



Beside a dying friend ; 

 But still the flame swept slowly on ; 



It vanished into air ; 

 I threw it from me, spare the tale, 



It was my last cigar. 



