Lord Byron on Tobacco.
Borne from a short frail pipe which yet had blown
Its gentle odours over either zone,
And, puff’d where’er winds rise or waters roll,
Had wafted smoke from Portsmouth to the Pole,
Opposed its vapour as the lightning flash’d,
And reek’d, midst mountain-billows unabash’d,
To Æolus a constant sacrifice,
Thro’ every change of all the varying skies.