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AN GAOḊAL.
To lead the wretch from shades of vice to virtue's
path of light.
Oh, on the sinner's hraden'd heart it falls as dew
from Heaven,
The softened soul dissolves in tears — he weeps,
and is forgiven.
Thus lurks amid the simple poor, forgotten and
unknown,
That ancient tongue, that royal tongue, so prized
in ages flown,
Which came to make our isle its home from lands
'neath orient skies,
Which saw the wondrous pillar-shrines in grace¬
ful grandeur rise —
Which echoed in its days of pride within Emania's
walls,
Through high Kincora’s princely courts, through
Tara's regal halls,
Which swelled in holy songs to Heaven upon the
morning air —
When from the Sacred Groves went up the Druid's
voice in prayer.
And oft, in brighter Christian days, it rose in
holier strain
From Glendolough's calm Eden shades, from In¬
nisfallen's fame.
It breathed iu vesper orison, when evening's shad¬
ows fell,
From city shrines, from abbey piles, from hermit's
lonely cell,
It sped in winged accents forth, from dawn to
day's last smile,
From lips of sages, saints, and kings, throughout
our sacred Isle.
Ere Grecian fame, ere Latin name, from infant
state had sprung,
In munhood's strength that language stood, the
mighty CELTIC TONGUE!
IV.
The Celtic Tongue ! — then must it die? Say, shall
our language go!
No! by Ulfadha's kingly soul ! by sainted Laur¬
ence, no !
No! by the shades of saints and chiefs, of holy
name and high,
Whose deeds, as they have lived with it, must die
when it shall die —
No! by the memories of the Past that round our
ruin twine —
No! by our evening hope of suns in coming day,
to shine.
It shall not go — it must not die — the language of
our sires ;
While Erin's glory glads our souls or freedom's
name inspires,
That lingering ray from stars gone down — oh, let
its light remain !
That last bright link with splendors flown — oh,
snap it not in twain !
Bourke's Easy Lessons p. 388.
Reprt. Vol. IX. page 203.
MÓIRÍN.
Aisling an Áṫar Padruic Ui Ḃuirn.
Tóigfiḋ se fadtuirse a's ḃrón díb
Aisling do conarc-sa air Ṁóirín;
Án ḃanaltra ḃreugaċ, ṫadail air gaċ
aon neaċ.
O d'imṫiġ a céile, — mo ḃrón í!
Á cneas mar an sneaċta, ba ró-ṁín
Á bas fa n-a leaca 's sí a' deoraoil;
'S a mama breaġ, glégeala, ag con¬
airt an Ḃeurla,
D'a slama gan traoċa gan coṁnuiġe
'Sé duḃairt an mac-alla do'n ġlór
caoin,
Án ḃ-fuil tú ad ċodlaḋ, a Ṁóirín?
Eirġe cois toinne, a's dearc air an
duine,
Ta teaċt ċugainn tar an tuille le
mór-ṁuiḋin.
Ánn sin beiḋ agad-sa ad' ṗóicín,
Áirgiod go fairsing a's ór buiḋe,
Mar ċaḃair do na ceudta ta cnea¬
daḋ 's a béiceaḋ,
D'a g-creaċaḋ 's d'a g-ceusaḋ le
mór-ċíos.
Taid eunlait na coille go ró-ḃinn,
Á n-aoinfeaċt ag seinm a nótaiḋe;
Go meanmnaċ aoraċ ag innsin d'a
ċéile,
Naċ m-beiḋ fearg mic Dé linn a g-
cóṁnuiḋe.
Do ċualaḋ d'a seinm air ceol-ṗíob
Go ḃ-fuil Coileaċ a's Fiolar air
deoruiġeaċt,
Do ṗiocfas na súile as an duine ná
'r ḋúṫċus
Ḃeiṫ 'gainn a Longdún 'na ċóṁnuiḋe
Beiḋ Hector a's Caeser, go beolḃinn
Bowler a's Ranger ag geonaoil;
Á's gearr-ḟiaḋ aca air saoṫar ó
Ċaisil go Béara,
Go d-tuitfiḋ i n-aonḟaċt in órlaiġe.
Ann sin go fírinneaċ pósfar
Án duine na'r saoileaḋ lé Móirín,
Á's crunneoċaiḋ na ceudṫa do ṁai¬
ṫiḃ na h-Éireann
Go mullaċ Cnoc-gréine lé ceol siġe
Túgṫar ċugainn punch agus beoir
groiḋe,
'S biotar d'a ṫarraing i g-cóṁnuiġe;
Cuir an aindeise air cairde go mai¬
