"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 fœminis
Commune est cum monachis?

"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!

THE LADY.

"Oh! Father, send not hence

66

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.

HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR.

AIR.-The Twisting of the Rope.

I.

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.

II.

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!

TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE.

Written on returning a Blank Book.

AIR.-Dermott.

I.

TAKE back the virgin page,

White and unwritten still;

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.

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

IV.

And, as the records are,

Which wandering seamen keep,

Led by their hidden star

Through the cold deep

So may the words I write

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

Guiding my way!

THE LEGACY.

AIR.-Unknown.

I.

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;

2.