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"For on thy deck, though dark it be.

"A female form I see;

"And I have sworn this sainted sod

"Shall ne'er by woman's feet be trod!"


"Oh! Father, send not hence my bark
"Through wintry winds and billows dark
"I come with humble heart to share
"Thy morn and evening prayer ;
"Nor mine the feet, oh! holy Saint,
"The brightness of thy sod to taint."

The Lady's prayer SENANUS spurn'd ;
The winds blew fresh, the bark return'd.
But legends hint, that had the maid

Till morning's light delay'd,

And given the saint one rosy smile,
She ne'er had left his lonely isle.

Nec te nec ullam aliam

Admittemus in insulam.

See the Acta Sanct. Hib. page 610.

According to Dr. Ledwich, St. Senanus was no less a personage than the river Shannon; but O'Connor, and other Antiquarians, deny this metamorphose indignantly.


AIR-The Twisting of the Rope.


How dear to me the hour when daylight dies,
And sun-beams melt along the silent sea,
For then sweet dreams of other days arise,
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee.


And, as I watch the line of light that plays

Along the smooth wave toward the burning west, I long to tread that golden path of rays,

And think 'twould lead to some bright isle of rest!

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Thoughts that not burn, but shine
Pure, calm, and sweet!


And, as the records are,

Which wandering seamen keep,

Led by their hidden star

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Tell through what storms I stray,
You still the unseen light

Guiding my way!




WHEN in death I shall calm recline,

O bear my

heart to my mistress dear ;

Tell her it lived upon smiles and wine

Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here


Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow

To sully a heart so brilliant and light; But balmy drops of the red grape borrow, To bathe the relic from morn till night.


When the light of my song is o'er,

Then take my harp to your ancient hall; Hang it up at that friendly door,

Where weary travellers love to call.* Then if some bard, who roams forsaken, Revive its soft note in passing along, Oh! let one thought of its master waken Your warmest smile for the child of



Keep this

s cup, which is now o'erflowing, To grace your revel when I'm at rest; Never, oh! never its balm bestowing

On lips that beauty hath seldom blest! But when some warm devoted lover

To her he adores shall bathe its brim,

"In every house was one or two harps, free to all travellers, who were the more caressed the more they excelled in music."-O'HALLORAN.

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