'TWAS OFF THE BLUE CANARIES.

'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer day, I sat upon the quarter deck, And whiffed my cares away; And as the volumed smoke arose, Like incense in the air, I breathed a sigh to think, in sooth, It was my last cigar. I leaned upon the quarter rail, And looked down in the sea; E'en there the purple wreath of smoke, Was curling gracefully; Oh! what had I at such a time To do with wasting care? Alas! the trembling tear proclaimed It was my last cigar. I watched the ashes as it came Fast drawing toward the end; I watched it as a friend would watch Beside a dying friend; But still the flame swept slowly on; It vanished into air; I threw it from me,—spare the tale,— It was my last cigar. I've seen the land of all I love Fade in the distance dim; I've watched above the blighted heart, Where once proud hope hath been; But I've never known a sorrow That could with that compare, When off the blue Canaries I smoked my last cigar.