Military Recruiting

To a Recruit Fond of Segar Smoking

----Ex fumo dare lucem Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat--Hor.

When first I arrived to the age of a man And met the distraction of care, As the day to a close rather sorrowful ran Yet I smiled and I smoked my segar: O, how sweet did it seem What a feast, what a dream What a pleasure to smoke the segar!

In vain did the din of the females assail Or the noise of the carts in the street, With a spanish segar and a pint of good ale I found my enjoyment complete: Old care I dismiss'd While I held in my fist The pitcher, and smoked the segar.

What a world are we in, if we do not retire, And, at times, to the tavern repair To read the gazette, by a hickory fire, With a sixpence or shilling to spare, To handle the glass And an evening pass With the help of a lively segar.

The man of the closet, who studies and reads, And prepares for the wars of the bar; The priest who harangues, or the lawyer who pleads, What are they without the segar? What they say may be right, But they give no delight Unless they have smoked the segar.

The farmer still plodding, who follows his plough, A calling, the first and the best, Would care not a fig for the sweat on his brow If he smoked a segar with the rest: To the hay-loft alone I would have it unknown, For there a segar I detest.

The sailor who climbs and ascends to the yard Bespatter'd and blacken'd with tar, Would think his condition uncommonly hard If he did not indulge the segar, To keep them in trim While they merrily swim On the ocean, to countries afar.

The soldier untry'd, in the midst of the smoke, The havoc and carnage of war, Would stand to his cannon, as firm as a rock, Would they let him but smoke his segar: Every gun in the fort Should make its report From the fire which illumes the segar.

Come then, to the tavern, ye sons of the sword, No fear of a wound or a scar; If your money is gone, your account will be scored By the lady who tends at the bar: And this I can say, Not a cent need you pay For the use of the social segar.

ON THE CAPTURE OF THE GUERRIERE,

Captain Dacres, August 19, 1812--by the Constitution, american frigate, capt. Hull.

AN IRREGULAR ODE.

Long the tyrant of our coast Reign'd the famous Guerriere; Our little navy she defy'd, Public ship and privateer: On her sails in letters red, To our captains were display'd Words of warning, words of dread, All, who meet me, have a care! I am England's Guerriere.[A]

[A] Female warrior, or amazon.--Freneau's note.

On the wide, Atlantic deep (Not her equal for the fight) The Constitution, on her way, Chanced to meet these men of might: On her sails was nothing said, But her waist the teeth displayed That a deal of blood could shed, Which, if she would venture near, Would stain the decks of the Guerriere.

Now our gallant ship they met-- And, to struggle with John Bull-- Who had come, they little thought, Strangers, yet, to Isaac Hull: Better, soon, to be acquainted: Isaac hail'd the lord's anointed-- While the crew the cannon pointed, And the balls were so directed With a blaze so unexpected; Isaac did so maul and rake her That the decks of captain Dacres Were in such a woful pickle As if death, with scythe and sickle, With his sling, or with his shaft Had cut his harvest fore and aft.

Thus, in thirty minutes ended, Mischiefs that could not be mended: Masts, and yards, and ship descended, All to David Jones' locker-- Such a ship in such a pucker!

Drink about to the Constitution! She perform'd some execution Did some share of retribution For the insults of the year When she took the Guerriere. May success again await her, Let who will again command her Bainbridge, Rodgers, or Decatur-- Nothing like her can withstand her, With a crew, like that on board her Who so boldly call'd "to order" One bold crew of english sailors, Long, too long our seamen's jailors, Dacre' and the Guerriere!