And full of flowers as heaven of stars above.

It is thy virtue and peculiar gift,
Thou sooty wizard of the potent weed;
No other pipe can thus the soul uplift,
Or such rare fancies and high musings breed.

I've tried full many of thy kith and kind,
Dug from thy native Asiatic clay,
Fashioned by cunning hand and curious mind
Into all shapes and features, grave and gay,--

Black niggers' heads with their white-livered eyes
Glaring in fiery horror through the smoke,
And monstrous dragons stained with bloody dyes,
And comelier forms; but all save thee I broke.

For though, like thee, each pipe was black and old,
They were not wiser for their many years,
Nor knew thy sorcery though set in gold,
Nor had thy tropic taste,--these proud compeers!

Like great John Paul, who would have loved thee well,
Thou art the "only one" of all thy race;
Nor shall another comrade near thee dwell,
Old King of pipes! my study's pride and grace!


III.