TO AN OLD PIPE.

Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a case; 'Twas a jolly cosy place, I surmise; And a zealous subject blew On your cheeks, until they grew To the fascinating hue Of her eyes. Near a rusty-hilted sword, Now upon my mantel-board, Where my curios are stored, You recline. You were pleasant company when By the scribbling of her pen I was sent the ways of men To repine. Tell me truly (you were there When she ceased that debonair Correspondence and affair) I suppose That she laughed and smiled all day; Or did gentle tear-drops stray Down her charming retroussée Little nose? Where the sunbeams, coyly still, Fall upon the mantel-sill, You perpetually will Silence woo; And I fear that she herself, By the little chubby elf. Will be laid upon the shelf Just as you.