POETRY OF SMOKE 

 To MY PIPB 



COME down, old friend, from off the 



mantel-tree, 

 Where loving fingers placed thee yester- 



eve; 

 Come down, and hold communion now with 



me, 



Thou art a friend who never did deceive. 

 A friend who never fails in time of need, 



A friend who ever lends his potent might, 

 When Care upon the weary mind would 



feed, 



Or Melancholy's gloomy spell would 

 blight. 



45 



