My grandsire blew his cares away!
And then, when done with life's sojourning,
At seventy-five dropped dead one day,
That pipe between his set teeth burning!
"Killed him?" No doubt! it's apt to kill
In fifty year's incessant using—
Some twenty pipes a day. And still,
On that ripe, well-filled, lifetime musing,
I envy oft so bright a part,—
To live as long as life's a treasure;