But best of all I love to steer
For quiet corners not too far,
Where the first juleps reappear
With fresh green mint behind the bar.

P. S. Perhaps you’ll think it queer,
But I do not dislike a hint
To let the juleps disappear
And stick my nose into the mint.

A STEIN SONG.

Give a rouse, then, in the Maytime
For a life that knows no fear! 
Turn night-time into daytime
With the sunlight of good cheer! 
For it’s always fair weather
When good fellows get together,
With a stein on the table and a good song ringing clear.

When the wind comes up from Cuba
And the birds are on the wing,
And our hearts are patting juba
To the banjo of the spring,
Then it’s no wonder whether
The boys will get together,
With a stein on the table and a cheer for everything.

For we’re all frank-and-twenty
When the spring is in the air;
And we’ve faith and hope a-plenty,
And we’ve life and love to spare;
And it’s birds of a feather
When we all get together,
With a stein on the table and a heart without a care.

For we know the world is glorious,
And the goal a golden thing,
And that God is not censorious
When his children have their fling;
And life slips its tether
When the boys get together,
With a stein on the table in the fellowship of spring.

THE UNSAINTING OF KAVIN.

Saint Kavin was a gentleman,
He came from Tipperary;
And woman was the only thing
That ever made him scary.

For Kavin was a tender youth,
And he was very simple;
He feared the wiles of maiden smiles,
And fainted at a dimple.

But when Kathleen at seventeen
Came down the street one morning,
The luck of man came over him
And took him without warning.

Afraid to meet a foolish fate
By green sea or by dry land,
He fled away without delay
And sought a desert island.

But even there he felt despair;
For happiness is only
The hope of doing something else;
And he was very lonely.

He vowed to lead a life of prayer
Because that he had lost her;
And every time he thought of her
He said a Pater noster.

Yet hard it is for man to change
The less love for the greater;
And every time he reached Amen,
He must go back to Pater.

And so he grew a year or two
Disconsolate and holy,
While friends he’d known long since had grown
Papas and roly-poly.

Until one day, one blessed day,
A-moping like a Hindoo,
He saw Kathleen in mournful mien
A-passing by his window.

He threw away his rosary,
His Paters and his Aves;
For love is stronger than the wind
That wafts a thousand navies.