194 
EPIGRAMS. 
Incense to their memory. 
Though the weed’s nor rich nor rare, 
‘Tis a balm for every care. 
Peter Piper. 
Give me the weed, the fragrant weed, | 
My wearied brain to calm; 
In a wreath of smoke, while I crack my joke, 
Tl find a healing balm. 
Day after day, let come what may, 
The pipe of peace I'll fill; 
I readily pay for briar or clay, 
To save a doctor’s bill. 
Pompone. 
Great men need no pompous marble 
To perpetuate their name; 
Household gear and common trinkets 
Best remind us of their fame. 
Raleigh's glory rests immortal 
On ten thousand thousand urns, 
Every jar is i memoriam, 
Every fragrant pipe that burns. 
Aitan Ash. 
There are jars of jelly, jars of jam, 
Jars of potted-beef and ham; 
But welcome most to me, by far, 
Is my dear old Tobacco-Jar. 
There are pipes producing sounds divine, 
Pipes producing luscious wine; 
But when I consolation need, 
I take the pipe that burns the weed. 
Jars. 
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days, 
What needs my muse to sing thy various praise? 
In country or in town, on land orsea, 
The weed is still delightful company. 
In joy or sorrow, grief or racking pain, 
We fly to thee for solace once again. 
Delicious plant, by all the world consumed, 
*Tis pity thou, like man, to ashes too art doom’d. 
Erutzim. 
