TO MY MEERSCHAUM.

There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the quivering light of a star, In the flash of a silvery rill, Yet to me thou art lovelier far, My Meerschaum! There's a love in her witching dark eye, There's a love in her tresses at play, Yet her love would be worth not a sigh, If from thee she could lure me away, My Meerschaum! Let revellers sing of their wine, As they toss it in ecstasy down, But the bowl I call for is thine, With its deepening amber and brown, My Meerschaum! For when trouble would bid me despair, I call for a flagon of beer, And puff a defiance to care, Till sorrows in smoke disappear, My Meerschaum! Though mid pleasures unnumbered I whirl, Though I traverse the billowy sea, Yet the waving and beautiful curl Of thy smoke's ever dearer to me, My Meerschaum!