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Love warms us, when the sun rides high

Wine comes, when daylight hours are few
In spring, I bid the glass good bye!

In autumn, to the Loves adieu!
Better 'twould be, I'm well aware,

These two delicious balms to join ;
But I can't boast of strength to bear
Excess at once in love and wine.
Led, then, by wisdom's dictates, I
At different times each joy pursue :
In spring, I bid the glass good bye!
In autumn to the Loves adieu!

I meet and part with fair Adele,
Without apology or pain;

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One morn she cried, "An hour's farewell!"
'Twas months ere she returned again :
Then 'neath the vine I chanced to lie,

And "The season's past for you:"

sung,

In spring, I bid the glass good bye!
In autumn to the Loves adieu !

But there is one enchanting lass,

Who changes all my plans at will—
Who gives new impulse to the glass-
Who all the year delights me still.
Fired by the magic of her eye,

I revel every season through;

And never bid the glass good bye-
Nor ever to the Loves adieu!

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OLD ENGLISH POETRY. No. II.

LOVER'S QUARRELS.
By FRANCIS Davison.

WHEN I to you of all my woes complain,
Which you make me endure without release,
With scornful smiles you answer me again,
That lovers true must bear, and hold their peace.
Dear, I will bear, and hold my peace, if you
Will hold your peace, and bear what I shall do.

ST. MARTIN'S DAY.

A MUNSTER POPULAR TALE.

It is, perhaps, not generally known, even in Ireland, that the Shannon, which derives its name from its patron, St. Senanus, is yet farther honoured by the countenance of two minor spiritual dignitaries, St. Margaret and St. Martin. The former is looked up to in all cases of peril on the water, and every good boatman preserves a faithful copy of her extraordinary life about his person, as an infallible talisman; offering up occasionally a few paters and aves to win her more special regard. St. Martin, on the contrary, seems to receive their homage as his Satanic majesty is said to receive attention in some countries, rather out of fear than out of respect. They keep a holiday in honour of him once in the year, and seem to understand his temper so well, that if chance, or accident, should blow them out of harbour during its tedious lapse, they anticipate, with no little degree of certainty, some unprecedented calamity.

With such prepossessions, it was no wonder it should have excited the astonishment of all the boatmen on the river, to see, on one of those festivals of rest, the Coobah, a handsome cutter-rigged turf-boat, off Ringmoylan, beating up against a strong easterly gale, which was every hour becoming more formidable. It was not that Darby Whelan, the honest, hard-visaged, weather-beaten looking old man at the helm, or his shipmate, Brian Kennedy, were ignorant of the danger incurred in the attempt, much less had they the temerity to despise a point of faith so orthodox among all the wayfarers from Thomondbridge to Loop-head, but they had been unfortunately becalmed at Ahanish, on the preceding night, and in the morning found there was such a high swell running, that their little vessel, deeply laden as she was with oats, would, in all probability, fill at anchor. With hearts little willing, they therefore got under weigh, choosing, as No. 12.

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it were, the less immediate of two evils. But even this, they very soon found occasion to repent, for the wind, tack after tack, grew fiercer, and their hopes became infinitely more precarious. The waves were, now and then, breaking in frightful swells over the lee gunwale, and the prow was sometimes so buried in foam, that Brian, for moments, knee-deep on the forecastle, doubted if it would ever rise above water again.

There were, ever and anon, silent glances cast from stem to stern, between him and Darby, and perhaps there was as much of boldness and of caution, of eloquence and of argument, in these mute debates, as in the more wordy councils of prouder vessels, when in equal peril. At length, after luffing in a heavy squall, during which they took in something less than a ton of water, Darby gave Brian a look, tossed back his head, and, putting up the helm, bore away with a free sheet, resolved to run the boat ashore wherever they could find the best ground. In less than an hour they were stuck firm in the mud, on one of the islands in the mouth of the Clare river, the tremendous speed with which she was going having swept her almost high and dry out of the waters.

After having stowed the sails, and set all on deck right, they repaired to the cabin, a little room partitioned off at the bow of the boat, to the shape of which it strictly corresponded. There was a small brick hearth at the fore part, the turf upon which was manifesting a fair intention of translating itself into a snug fire; broken pipes, which had exchanged their original snow-white hue for the dun Ethiopian, with an old japanned tobacco box, lay scattered on the hob; and overhead, strung through the gills on a piece of spun-yarn, waved half-adozen dried herrings, which they proceeded instantly to stretch full length over the fire, arranging them rank and file on a piece of bent iron hoop, which, though generally officiating in the higher department of tongs, was sometimes thus constrained to act the gridiron. After regal

ing themselves duly, and deciding, on a reference to the state of the tide, that the boat could not float until daybreak, they lay down to rest in the straw, where, as they were alone, they had fair and free room to stretch their limbs. The full felicity of this latter piece of good fortune will be readily appreciated, when it is mentioned, that those apartments are seldom over six feet square, especially in that class of traders which do not mount a jib, and that they not unfrequently accommodate from sixteen to eighteen passengers, a circumstance that, it must be admitted, would be altogether impossible, but for the unanimity and social complacency with which they stow themselves, one over another, like the corn bags in the hold.

They were not above two or three hours asleep when Brian was awakened by having fallen over on Darby, on account of the heeling of the boat; in a few moments after, he was rolled back again by a heave to the contrary side; and, in short, she seemed to lean, now at that side, and now at this, for all the world as if she was tacking or beating against a gentle head-wind. Brian was, as may be well supposed, fairly puzzled at so extraordinary a phenomenon, and immediately shook up his friend,"E'then Darby, man, do you hear? Sure it isn't sailing we are?" "Wisha, that you mightened, Brian Kennedy, and to waken me out of my fine sleep, and the drame I had," grumbled his companion; "is it in the slob* you'd have her sail ?" and, after some little discussion, they went to rest again. But they had not been long asleep, when Brian a second time started up in the straw, and, listening quietly, heard a gurgling and dashing at the bow, as if the boat was making her way through uneven waters, a heavy swell now and then rolling by; and sometimes the sounds of ropes pulling about, and of light footsteps passing to and fro upon the deck. "Murder alive!" cried he to himself, "what can all this mean?"

* Slob-mud.

and he shook up the old helmsman in more alarm than before-" Darby, Darby, I say; a blessed end to me, (and that's what I wouldn't swear in a lie whatever,) if I didn't hear the noise of people upon deck-whuisht! Come up, I tell you-she's under weigh, surely." "Under weigh! the devil!" exclaimed Darby, " and the tide not within a cable's length of us;-I tell you, man, 'tis only rocking with the wind, and making a bed for herself in the slob, she is." "But the ropes, man, and the tramping," ejaculated Brian, " I'd take my cross, barring 'tisn't something that's not good, that there's somebody has come aboord of us." "Wishaw, then, 'tis to your cost you'd take it, maybe," rejoined Darby, " aren't I listening; and isn't it only the breeze that's blowing the sheets and halliards about?"

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Very well, why," mut

tered Brian, as, half incredulous and dissatisfied, he lay down a third time, but he was so uneasy that he only fell into a kind of broken doze, out of which he was awakened by a low humming in his ear. On raising his head, to his utter surprise he heard some one singing at the helm.

"I'm a Turk, or a Jew at the least, every pin's point of me," ejaculated Brian, softly, "if that isn't the voice of Tony Taafe, himself, that was drowned in the Seahorse, off the Beeves, * as good as three years ago—the Lord save us from hurt or harm! E'then, Darby-monom, but you're a queer Darby, (finding it impossible to awaken him,) but I'll have a peep upon deck myself, at any rate."

In prosecution of this doughty resolution, Brian crept up the hatchway, and, displaying as small a portion of his head as was at all consistent with the attainment of his object, he found the boat was indeed under full sail, and scudding to the southward, close to wind, while a little fellow, no higher than his knee, stood at the foresheet, ready to back the sail when they should put about. Halfa-dozen more, not a hair's-breadth higher, were swinging

* A reef of rocks in the centre of the river Shannon.

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