The Last Cigar

Twas off the blue Canaries,

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 heaved a sigh to think, in sooth,

It was my last cigar.

I leaned against the quarter rail
And gazed down in the sea;

E'en there the airy wreaths of smoke
Were 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 nearing to the end;

I watched it as a friend will watch
Beside his dying friend;—

I could not speak,—I could not stir,
But like a statue there,

I whiffed the massy volumes out
Of that divine cigar!

At length the pile of ashes fell,
Like child from mother torn,

And the smoke that I drew in and out
Grew warm and yet more warm.

I took one last, one lingering whiff—
A long whiff of despair—

And threw it from me—spare the tale,
It was my last cigar!

I've seen the land of all I loved
Fade in the distance dim,—

And sighed above the blighted heart
Where once proud hope had been;

But never have I felt a thrill
Which could with that compare,

When off the blue Canaries
I smoked my last cigar!

- Col. J. W. Fabens circa 1870