AN GAOḊAL.
277
Never till the latest day
Shall the memory pass away
Of the gallant lives thus given for our land;
But on the cause must go,
Amidst joy, or weal, or woe,
Till we’ve made our isle a nation free and grand.
"God save Ireland,” say we proudly;
"God save Ireland,” say we all,
"Whether on the scaffold high," &c.
Translation.
ḊIA SAOR ÉIRE.
Go hárd air ċrann na croiċe
Ṡeas triúr na g-croiḋṫe treuna,
Le mailís aintiġ'rnuis lota in a mḃláṫ,
Aċ le fearaṁlaċt a g-cinneaḋ,
Ċuaiḋid aġaiḋ air aġaiḋ na ċoinne,
'S le croiḋṫe treuna ċum a ndán do
ċuaiḋid.
"Ḋia saor Éire!" deir na laoċra;
"Ḋia saor Éire!" deir gaċ aon!
"Má eugfamoid 'san ár
No air an g-croiċ go h-árd,
Is cuma óir air ṡon Éire ḟáġmar bás.'
Giḋ le náṁaid teanta 'ngaḃail,
D' éiriġ a spiorad suas gan truaill,
Óir smuain air ċroiḋṫiḃ do ġráḋ' iad
soir is siar;
De na milliún fíor is treun
Ṫar an ḟairge ṫáll i g-cian,
'S na croiḋṫe in Éirinn naoṁṫa ċoiḋċe
daor.
"Ḋia saor Éire!" deirid go bród'ṁuil,
"Ḋia saor Éire!" deir gaċ aon;
Má eugfamoid san ár." &c.
Ġrapaid an stíre coraċ suas,
Is ġuiḋid fóirint ó Ḋia 'nuas,
Is le teud-ṁarḃṫa Ṡacsan orṫa teann,
Ngar do ċois na croiċe — (crann),
Ṗógeadar mar ḃráiṫre ionṁuinn
Fíor do ṫeac, do ċreideaṁ, 's do
ṡaoirse ċoíḋċ'.
"Ḋia saor Éire!" ġuiḋid go glóraċ;
"Ḋia saor Éire!" deir gaċ aon:
Ma eugfamoid 'san ár." &c.
A ċoiḋċe agus go deo
Congḃóċuiġear an ċuiṁne beo,
Air na croiḋṫe treunṁar' taḃrṫa ċum
a d-tír;
Aċ raċfaiḋ an ċúis air aġaiḋ,
Lár sóġ, no seun, no caoiḋ,
Go mbéiḋ ar n-oilean 'na naisiún saor
a's mór.
"Ḋia saor Éire!" deirid go ḃródṁuil,
"Ḋia saor Éire!" deirid gaċ aon;
Ma eugfamoid 'san ar," &c.
Ċum INĠÍN Ui SÚILIOḂÁIN,
A ċúilḟion ċáiḋ ṁánla
Na g-cíaṁ t-slím m-buiḋe,
Ó Ḋún na m-Barc aḃainn,
Mar a riarṫaoi an ḟíon,
Is tú mo gráḋ a g-cáileaṁ,
Agus fiafruiġim díot,
An rún leat pairt ṗáiste
Ó Ċiarruiḋe an ġrinn?
A leinḃ ba ṫais do ṡlad
Na soilse ó 'n n-gréin,
Na taḃair do ṡearc d'aon neaċ,
Aċt daṁ-sa féin;
Sinn a g-ceangal go glan
A m-ḃeartaib sinsear Gaoḋal;
'S ní tanaiḋe an brat
A g-ceart ma filltear é,
Mo ġráḋ-sa do ċúilḟionn
Múinte, mánla, ṡéiṁ;
Mo ġráḋ-sa do ṡiúḃal,
Naċ brúġann go bráṫ an feur ;
Mo ġráḋ-sa do ċúl
Ta búċlaċ, fainneaċ, réiḋ,
Is mo ḋian-ġraḋ tú
Mar ṡúil tú ḟaġail dom ḟéin.
Translated for the GAEL, by MICHAEL CAVANAGH.
To O’Sullivan's Daughter.
Oh, sunny haired beauty,
Whose long tresses shine,
From White-sailed-Bear-Haven —
Where flowed the rich wine!
'Tis you're my beloved one,
Oh, will you write
Your fate with a youngster
From "Kerry the Bright?”
For brighter your smile is
Than sunbeam or sea,
Give not your affection
To any but me.
When wed like our fathers
I'll shield you from harm,
(“Thin blankets when doubled
Become the more warm.”)
