LIFE IN IRELAND 169 



Island and made for Dublin Harbour : the malt had 

 gone briskly round, for Brian Boru took good care 

 to have the boat's locker well stuffed with ' belly 

 timber ' and moisture of various kinds, from humble 

 Port down to exalted Whiskey. In passing near the 

 bows of a British ship of war, one of the abandoned 

 Royal Squadron, Sally Jenktnson, warbled on the air 

 the following song ; and she had as good a voice — aye, 

 as good as Miss Wilson, who was supported at Drury 

 Lane because she had none, and Miss Stephens had. 



Fresh and strong the breeze is blowing, 



As yon ship at anchor rides ; 

 Sullen waves incessant flowing, 



Rudely dash against her sides. 



So my heart its course impeded, 

 Beats within my perturb'd breast ; 



Doubts like waves by waves succeeded. 

 Rise — and still deny it rest. 



Cease, fond heart, thy anxious beating, 



Rest and think thy lover true ; 

 Yes, he wept, when hence retreating, 



Sad, he sigh'd a long adieu. 



Ocean, cease thy troubled roaring, 



Billow sink to rise no more ; 

 Waft him here whose loss deploring, 



Ever thus I tread the shore. 



At this moment a squall took the boat, and fairly 

 turned her and all the party bottom up, where I must 

 leave them struggling for some hours. 



Reader, if thou hast acquired a deep interest in their 

 fate, and art willing to rescue them from a watery 

 grave, then assist me in my endeavours, by following 

 me to — 



