ODE TO A CIGAR, 281 
. The following ode to a Cigar is no doubt familiar to many 
yet will pay a re-perusal : ; 
“And oft, mild friend, to me thou art 
A monitor, though still; 
Thou speak’st a lesson to my heart 
Beyond the preacher’s skill. 
“Thou’rt like the man of worth, who gives 
To goodness every day, 
The odor of whose virtues lives 
When he has passed away. 
“When in the lonely evening hour, 
Attended but by thee, 
O’er history’s varied page I pore, 
Man’s fate in thine I see. 
“ Oft, as thy snowy column grows, 
Then breaks and falls away, 
I trace how mighty realms thus rose, 
Thus trembled to decay, 
“ Awhile, like thee, earth’s masters burn, 
And smoke and fume around, 
And then like thee to ashes turn, 
And mingle with the ground. 
“ Life’s but a leaf adroitly rolled, 
And time’s the wasting breath, 
That, late or early, we behold 
Gives all to dusty death. 
“From beggar’s frieze to monarch’s robe 
One common doom is passed; 
Sweet nature’s work, the swelling globe, 
Must all burn out at last. 
“And. what is he who smokes thee now ? 
A little moving heap, 
That soon, like thee, to fate must bow, 
With thee in dust must sleep. 
“But though thy ashes downward go, 
Thy essence rolls on high; 
Thus, when my body must lie low, 
My soul shall cleave the sky.” 
In Charles Butler’s “Story of Count Bismarck’s Life,” a 
good anecdote is told of the Count and his last cigar:— 
