Classic Poem

His pipe he lit. The vapor upward curled,
And, wreathing, wrought round his bewildered head;
Its fragrance stole his senses from the world,
Save one fond thought by recollection led
To watch the treasures in their ‘island bed,’
And half invoke a blessing on the seer;
Till in his dreamy trance he fancied
The clink of dollars in his ready ear,
And woke enraged to find his nibbling sheep were near.