Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig,
Ne'er deemed the smoke-cloud _infra dig._,
In which you could not see his wig,
Involved in clouds of smoke.

Quaint Lamb his wit would oft enshroud
In smoke-igniting laughter loud,
Like summer thunder in the cloud,--
The lightning in the smoke.

Dean Swift "died at the top;" his head
Had drifting clouds when wit had fled:
Dull care lurked in his brain, instead
Of blowing out in smoke.

And Cowper mild--no smoker he,
Bard of the sofa and bohea--
Complained his "dear friend Bull" not free
From lowering Stygian smoke.

Clouds in his non-inebriate nob
Were doomed the tea tables to rob,
Inflicting many a painful throb
On one who could not smoke!

Smoke on! it is the steam of life,
The smoother of the waves of strife;
Where chimneys smoke, or scolds the wife,
The counteraction--smoke.