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AN GAOḊAL.
DILEAGRA ṖÁDRAIC DO 'N ĊÓIṀ¬
ṪIONAL AIG TEAṀAIR.
By
Mr. Anthony O’Hara,
A Student of the College of the Sacred Heart,
S. J., Prairie Duchien, Wisconsin.
A Ríġ ró árdnearṫṁair, a ḋaoine
críonna & a ḟir na h-Éireann, seasaim
an so in bur measg & tá mé fuigart¬
aiḋe cuntas a ṫaḃairt cia mé ḟéin ag¬
us mo gnaṫas a ṡaoiraiṁ. Fear síoṫ¬
ċántaċ me, ḃur g-caraid & caraid ḃur
d-tíre. Ní ṫagaim le brannda 'n ċog¬
aiḋ do urċas, no le síol an ċlampuir a
scapaḋ in ḃur measg. Tagaim mar
ṫeaċdaire an ṫ-síoṫċáin agus do an te
ṫuigeas leis nuaiḋeaċt ṁaiṫ. Ní iom¬
praim aon arm aċt trusnán an deor¬
uiġe. Ní'l aon arm brolluiġe agam aċt
an ċruis ḃeag so. Ní ṫuirliġim i measg
torn arm aċt misniġim mo ċoiscéime
troma le nótaiḋe seaṁa agus milise
na n-oḃrán naoṁṫa. Ní losson an ḃro¬
taċ cogaṁuil in mo ċampa ; ní ċaiṫim
aon ċóṁṫara aċt an t-seaṁróg trí-ḋi¬
leoga beaga seo: cóṁṫara dóċuis, car¬
ṫanas agus gráḋ. Ní'l me aig iarraiġ
aon onóir ṡaoġalta, no saiḋḃreas sao¬
ġalta, Is Páḋraic m' ainm : torran
strainseuraċ a rioṁlaḃras gráḋ aṫar
do ṗáisdiḋe gráḋaṁuil le croiḋe' aṫar¬
aċ. Gráḋuiġim ḃur d-tír & ḃur ndaoi¬
ne. Nuair do ḃí me óg tugaḋ me mar
sgláḃuiḋe d' ar d-tír. D' ḟóġluim me
ḃur d-teanga & bur m-bealaiġe, d' éist
mo ċluasa le aḃráin ṁilise ḃur ṁbárd,
& le ceolta anam-ḋúiseaċtaiġe ċláirs¬
iġe ḃur d-tíre. D' ḟoġluim me timċioll
mianta onóraċ ḃur g-croiḋṫe uaisle &
gráḋuiġim ḃur d-tart do 'n ḟírinne &
ḃur meas air gaċ uile árd-ṫioḋlocaḋ.
Anois ó ṫárlaḋ gur ḋuasgal m'aingeal
a tá 'g-coṁnuiḋ aig mo láiṁ ḋeas agus
a ṫug air ais me steaċ go láṁa m' aṫ¬
ar agus mo ṁáṫar ġráḋaṁuil in mo ṫír
féin, coiṁdeaċ ḋom, níor ṫug me suas
gan siḃ a ġráḋuġ'ḋ, agus ġuiḋeas do
Ḋia air ḃur son. Ḃí mo smuaintiġe liḃ
gaċ lá agus mo ḃrionglóide gaċ oiḋċe.
Ṫainic aingeal mo Ḋia agam in uair
aṁáin in mo ċodlaḋ agus ṡeaċad sé
St. Patrick's Address to the Assembly
at Tara.
Literal Translation.
Most potent King, Sages, Men of E¬
rin; — I stand here before your august
assembly, and called upon to give an
account of my person, and justify my
conduct.
I am a peaceful man, your friend
and the friend of your country. I
come, not to fling the brand of war,
or scatter the seed of discord among
your people. I come as the messen¬
ger of peace, and the bringer of good
tidings. I bear no arms, save the
pilgrim's staff. My only breast-plate
is this little cross. I march not amid
the clang of arms, but cheer my weary
steps with the sweet and soothing
notes of sacred song. No hostile ban¬
ner frowns defiance from my camp.
This tiny three-leaved emblem, — the
symbol of hope and peace and union, —
is the only badge I wear. I court no
earthly honor, no earthly pelf.
My name is Patrick, — a foreign
sound that bespeaks a father's love to
his beloved children. With a father's
heart, I love your country and your
people. In early youth, being carried
as a slave to your shores, I have learn¬
ed your language and your customs.
My ears have hearkened to the sweet
songs of your bards and the soul-stir¬
ring sound of your native harp. I
have learned to admire your thirst
for truth, your esteem for every man¬
ly virtue.
Being freed by my own good angel
who stands, at my right hand and borne
again into my own native land, into
the arms of my loving parents. I did
not cease to love you, and pray to my
God for you. My thoughts were with
you by day, and my dreams by night.
Once the angel of my God appeared
to me in sleep and handed me a letter.
Me thought I read: The voice of the
children of Ireland. — Come, O holy
youth and walk amongst us. In this
I recognized the voice of my God and
