Above all, you gay ladies, who fancy neglect In your spouses, allow not your patience to fail; But remember Gengulphus's wife!--and reflect On the moral enforced by her terrible tale! FOOTNOTES: [11] Ενι δαχρυσι γελασασα.--HOM. * * * * * Mr. Barney Maguire has laid claim to the next Saint as a country-woman; and "Why wouldn't he?" when all the world knows the O'Dells were a fine ould, ancient family, sated in Tipperary "Ere the Lord Mayor stole his collar of gowld, And sowld it away to a trader?"[13] He is manifestly wrong; but, as he very rationally observes, "No matter for that,--she's a Saint any way!" THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. Odille was a maid of a dignified race; Her father, Count Otto, was lord of Alsace; Such an air, such a grace, Such a form, such a face, All agreed, 'twere a fruitless endeavour to trace In the Court, or within fifty miles of the place. Many ladies in Strasburg were beautiful, still They were beat all to sticks by the lovely Odille. But Odille was devout, and, before she was nine, Had "experienced a call" she consider'd divine, To put on the veil at St. Ermengarde's shrine.-- Lords, Dukes, and Electors, and Counts Palatine Came to seek her in marriage from both sides the Rhine; But vain their design, They are all left to pine, Their oglings and smiles are all useless; in fine, Not one of these gentlefolks, try as they will, Can draw "Ask my papa" from the cruel Odille. At length one of her suitors, a certain Count Herman, A highly respectable man as a German, Who smoked like a chimney, and drank like a Merman, Paid his court to her father, conceiving his firman Would soon make her bend, And induce her to lend An ear to a love-tale in lieu of a sermon. He gain'd the old Count, who said, "Come, Mynheer, fill! Here's luck to yourself and my daughter Odille!" The Lady Odille was quite nervous with fear, When a little bird whisper'd that toast in her ear; She murmur'd "O, dear! My Papa has got queer, I am sadly afraid, with that nasty strong beer! He's so very austere, and severe, that it's clear, If he gets in his 'tantrums,' I can't remain here; But St. Ermengarde's convent is luckily near; It were folly to stay _Pour prendre congé_, I shall put on my bonnet, and e'en run away!" --She unlock'd the back door and descended the hill, On whose crest stood the towers of the sire of Odille. --When he found she'd levanted, the Count of Alsace At first turn'd remarkably red in the face; He anathematised, with much unction and grace, Every soul who came near, and consign'd the whole race Of runaway girls to a very warm place; With a frightful grimace He gave orders for chase; His vassals set off at a deuce of a pace, And of all whom they met, high or low, Jack or Jill, Ask'd, "Pray have you seen anything of Odille?"--