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“Oh! haste and leave this sacred isle, “Unholy bark, ere morning smile;
* In a metrical life of St. Senanus, which is taken from an old Kilkenny MS. and may be found among the Acta Sanctorum Hiberniæ, we are told of his flight to the island of Scattery, and his resolution not to admit any woman of the party; 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 :
Cui Præsul, quid foeminis
“For on thy deck, though dark it be.
66 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
66 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;
Till morning's light delay’d,
Nec te nec ullam aliam
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.
HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR.
AIR.—The Twisting of the Rope.
And sun-beams melt along the silent sea,
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee.
Along the smooth wave toward the burning west,
And think ’twould lead to some bright isle of rest !
TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE. () LA
Written on returning a Blank Book.
less a per
White and unwritten still ;
d other An
Some hand more calm and sage
The leaf must fill. Thoughts come as pure as light,
Pure as even you require ; But oh! each word I write
Love turns to fire.
Yet let me keep the book ;
Oft shall my heart renew, When on its leaves I look,
Dear thoughts of you! Like you, 'tis fair and bright;
Like you, too bright and fair To let wild passion write One wrong
Haply, when from those eyes
Far, far away I roam, Should calmer thoughts arise
Towards you and home, Fancy may trace some line
Worthy those eyes to meet; Thoughts that not burn, but shine
Pure, calm, and sweet!
And, as the records are,
Which wandering seamen keep,
Through the cold deep-
Tell through what storms I stray,
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 ;