Great clouds of smoke between the sips;
Others in such things find no charms,
And when the bugle calls to arms
Would banish from the tented green
(Bugbear of matrons) the Canteen.
The hunter leaves his tender spouse
For a rude bed of hemlock boughs,
Content to bag a head or two
Of bearded moose or caribou.
But give me rather, if you please,