In the mean time, cross-legged, with great sang-froid,
Among the scorching ruins he sat smoking
Tobacco on a little carpet;—Troy
Saw nothing like the scene around;—yet looking
With martial Stoicism, nought seemed to annoy
His stern philosophy; but gently stroking
His beard, he puffed his pipe’s ambrosial gales,
As if he had three lives, as well as tails.