1 In a metrical life of St. Senanus, which is taken from an old Kilkenny MS., and may be found among the Acta Sanctorum Hibernia, we are told of his flight to the island of Scattery, and his resolution not to admit any woman of the party; and that he refused to receive even a sister saint, St. Cannera, whom an angel had taken to the island for the express purpose of introducing her to him. The following was the ungracious answer of Senanus, according to his poetical biographer:

SAIL ON, SAIL ON

SAIL on, sail on, thou fearless barkWherever blows the welcome wind, It cannot lead to scenes more dark, More sad than those we leave behind.

Cui Præsul, quid fœminis
Commune est cum monachis?
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 the metamorphose indignantly.

YES, sad one of Sion,' if closely resembling,

In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd-up heartIf drinking deep, deep, of the same "cup of trembling,"

Could make us thy children, our parent thou art.

Like thee doth our nation lie conquer'd and broken, And fall'n from her head is the once royal crown; In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken, And "while it is day yet, her sun hath gone down."

Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning, Die far from the home it were life to behold; Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning; Remember the bright things that bless'd them of old.

Ah, well may we call her, like thee, “the Forsaken," Her boldest are vanquish'd, her proudest are slaves;

And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken,

Have tones 'mid their mirth like the wind over graves!

Yet hadst thou thy vengeance-yet came there the

morrow,

That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night, When the sceptre, that smote thee with slavery and

sorrow,

Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight.

1 These verses were written after the perusal of a treatise by Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that the Irish were originally Jews.

DRINK OF THIS CUP.

DRINK of this cup; you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen!

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.
Would you forget the dark world we are in,
Just taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of
it;

But would you rise above earth, till akin

To Immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it;

Send round the cup-for oh, there's a spell in

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality; Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen!

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. Never was philter form'd with such power

To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing; Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour,

A harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing There having, by Nature's enchantment, been fill'd With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest

weather,

This wonderful juice from its core was distill'd

To enliven such hearts as are here brought to

gether.

Then drink of the cup-you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen!
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

"How hath the oppressor ceased! the golden city ceased!"-Isaiah, xiv. 4.

IV 9.

"Thy pomp is brought down to the grave..... and "Thou shalt no more be called the Lady of Kingdoms.'

Ixii 4

And though, perhaps but breathe it to no one-
Like liquor the witch brew sat midnight so awful,
This philter in secret was first taught to flow on,
Yet 'tis n't less potent for being unlawful.
And, ev'n though it taste of the smoke of that flame,

Which in silence extracted its virtue forbiddenFill up there's a fire in some hearts I could name, Which may work too its charm, though as lawless and hidden.

So drink of the cup-for oh there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen!
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

THE FORTUNE-TELLER.

Down in the valley come meet me to-night,
And I'll tell you your fortune truly
As ever was told, by the new-moon's light,
To a young maiden, shining as newly.

But, for the world, let no one be nigh,

Lest haply the stars should deceive me; Such secrets between you and me and the sky Should never go farther, believe me.

If at that hour the heav'ns be not dim, My science shall call up before you A male apparition,-the image of him Whose destiny 'tis to adore you.

And if to that phantom you'll be kind,
So fondly around you he'll hover,
You'll hardly, my dear, any difference find
"Twixt him and a true living lover.

Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight, He'll kneel, with a warmth of devotionAn ardor, of which such an innocent sprite You'd scarcely believe had a notion.

What other thoughts and events may arise, As in destiny's book I've not seen them, Must only be left to the stars and your eyes To settle, ere morning, between them.

1 Paul Zealand mentions that there is a mountain in some part of Ireland, where the ghosts of persons who have died in foreign lands walk about and converse with those they meet, like living people. If asked why they do not return to their homes, they say they are obliged to go to Mount Hecla, and disappear immediately.

The particulars of the tradition respecting O'Donohue and his White Horse, may be found in Mr. Weld's Account of Killarney, or more fully detailed in Derrick's Letters. For many years after his death, the spirit of this hero is supposed to have been seen on the morning of May-day, gliding

over the lake on his favorite white horse, to the sound of sweet unearthly music, and preceded by groups of youths and maidens, who flung wreaths of delicate spring flowers in his path.

Among other stories, connected with this Legend of the Lakes, it is said that there was a young and beautiful girl whose imagination was so impressed with the idea of this visionary chieftain, that she fancied herself in love with him, and at last, in a fit of insanity, on a May-morning threw herself into the lake