AN GAOḊAL.
51
The GAEL has many typographical errors for the
want of sufficient time to properly scrutinize it. As
has been observed in another column, our regular
business occupies our time every day until five o’clock
in the evening ; two evenings, in the week are devo-
ted to the P. C. Society, and the remaining evenings
to writing and translating the matter and setting up
the type for these twelve pages ; but we paid too
much money for the getting up of the title page to
let it go without paying considerable attention to it,
and we assure our readers that it is, at least, as cor-
rect as the English translation. We have the same
amount of knowledge of Irish that we have of Eng¬
lish, no more nor no less. We deem this statement
to be due to our readers.
TRANSLATION OF DR. GALLAGHER'S SER¬
MONS.
You will say, dear Christians, all that, in your
opinion was quite enough to give expression to the
amount of honor which should be bestowed in hail-
ing the presence of any creature who, as such, is in-
ferior to God. But Christ did not deem it enough.
He did still more than all this for his mother. He
himself went forth to meet her ; He put the crown
of glory on her head ; rays and the effulgence of
glory; the while, beaming from her countenance.
With exultant joy and delight He received His mo-
ther. He took her by the hand to the presence of
the Eternal Father and said to Him: “This is the
woman, whom you selected from all eternity to be
my mother; this is the woman who always perfor-
med my will, and who never yet inclined in the least
to violate your law ; this is the woman who has been
an example and a pattern of chastity and of honesty
to all men and women of the world."
"Whereas, O Mary,” said the Eternal Father, "that
you have, while on earth, performed my will and
that you never defiled your conscience with any
stain of sin, I confer on you as a present and as a
reward to have a share in my power.” "Well, I
impart to you,” said the Son, “the gift of being the
dispensing agent of my mercy. I bestow, in like
manner, on you, said the Holy Ghost, to be a sharer
in my wisdom and in my goodness. We ordain in
your favor that you be, from this day forward,
queen above angels and archangels — above all men
and women who are saints in the Court of Paradise.
The holy mother of God was raised above the choirs
of angels to the regal throne in heaven
O Mary, Queen of creation, great, indeed, is the
dignity and the honor you have obtained — high
above the saints of the world; but you have not ob-
tained anything of which you were not worthy. I
praise you from my heart and from my will. That
is, indeed, true, which Elizabeth, mother of John
the Baptist, said to you that that “thou art blessed a-
bove women” (Luke, c. i, v. 43.)
The following Ode has been copied from the
Tuam News, and will, doubtless, be interesting to
our readers.
Antoine Ó Dáluiġ.
Air tráṫnóna Aoine Ċeusta,
Ḃí na Gaeḋil faoi ṁercy aig na Gaill
Coṁṫrom an lae a raḃ
Aon-ṁac Ṁuire air an g-crann,
’Súil le long day — aċt d' aon neaċ
Ní ḃ-fuil maiṫ ar biṫ a caint
Aċt 'sé Cullen 's a ċéile,
'Ċroċ Daly, ḃearfaiḋ díol ann.
Súd é an fíor eun nár ċlaon,
'S nár úṁluiġ do Ġaill,
Antoine Ó Dálaiġ a Ṁic Dé,
Ḃeiḋeas agad gan ṁoill :
Míle a's oċt g-ceud, sé-deug,
'S an ceaṫair 'nn a ċeann,
Ó rugaḋ Mac Dé, gur eug Daly,
Aig caisleán Suiḋe-Finn.
O cailleaḋ ṡé Daly,
Tá 'n t-aer 'nn a ṁúairt os ar g-cionn,
Ní lasann na reulta,
A's éisg ní ṗreabann air toinn;
Tá smuit air an gréin,
'S ní ṡeinneann na h-eunaċa binn;
Le ċúmaiḋ do ḋiaiġ, a Daly,
Mo leun! ní ṫig toraḋ air ċrain.
Tá na páipéir seo ṡuas,
A fanaċt go d-tigiḋ an t-am;
Iarraim air Riġ na n-grás'
Gur geárr go n-gaḃaiḋ a nuas.
Go ḃ-feicfiḋ mé an lá,
Go m-beiḋ rása orrṫa agus ruaig,
Gaċ h-uile ṁac máṫar,
Dá 'r orduiġ ṫu, Daly, ċur suas.
Raftery cct.
AN LEON AGUS AN LUĊ-ḂEAG.
Mar do ḃí leon na ċodlaḋ ann a
uaiṁ riṫ luċ-ḃeag, na naḃ ḟios aice cia
raḃ sí a dul, ṫair ṡróin an ḃeiṫiḋe aiḋ-
ḃéil, agus ḋúisiġ sí é. Do ḃuail an leon
a spág air an g-créatúr beag, faiṫteaċ'
agus ḃí sé dul a cur críoċ uirṫi air a
bpuinte, nuair a d' iarr an luċ-ḃeag air
go cráíḃṫeaċ, fóirint a ḋeunaḋ air te
a ċuir fearg air ċo neaṁṫoileaṁuil, a-
gus gan brúdar a ċuir air a spág on-
óraċ lé creaċ ċo suaraċ. Do ṡuigeaḋ
an leon aig scanraḋ a ṗríosúnaiḋ ḃeg,
agus, go flaṫaṁuil' ṫug sé cead a cinn
