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ST. SENANUS AND THE LADY.

Air-The Brown Thorn.

ST. SENANUS!

“ Oh! haste and leave this sacred isle,
Unholy bark, ere morning smile;
For on thy deck though dark it be

A female form I see;
And I have sworn the sainted sod
Shall ne'er by woman's feet be trod."

1 In a metrical life of St. Senanus, which is taken from an old Kilkenney 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 fæminis
Commune est cum monachis,

THE LADY.

“ Oh! Father send not hence my bark Through wintry winds and billows dark, I come with humble heart, to share

Thy morn and ev’ning 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 metamorphosis indignantly.

HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR WHEN DAY

LIGHT DIES.

AirThe Twisting of the Rope.

How dear to me the hour when daylight dies,

And sunbeams melt along the silent sea, For then sweet dreams of other days arise,

And mem'ry breathes her vesper sigh to thee!

And as I watch the hue of light that plays Along the smooth wave tow'rd 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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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.

Yet let me keep the book;

Oft shall my heart renew,
When on its leaves I look,

Dear thoughts of you;

Like you it's fair and bright;

Like you, too bright and fair To let wild passion write

One wrong wish there.

Haply, when from those eyes

Far, far away, I roam, Should calmer thoughts arise

Tow'rds 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 wand'ring seamen keep, Led by the hidden star

Through winter's deep; So may the words I write

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

Guiding my way!

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