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AN GAOḊAL.
ḂÁN-ĊNOIC ÉIREANN O!
Le Donnċaḋ (Ruaḋ) Ṁic Con-Mara.
Fonn — Uileaċán Duḃ O!
Beir beannaċt ó m' ċroiḋe go tír na h
Éireann,
Bán ċnoic Éireann O!
'S ċum a mairionn de ṡíolraċ Ir 's Éi¬
ḃear,
Air ḃan ċnoic Éireann O!
An áit úd 'nar ḃ' aoiḃinn bínn-ġuṫ éan,
Mar ṡáṁ-ċruit ċaoin ag caoiné Gaoḋal,
Is é mo ċás a ḃeiṫ míle míle i g-céin,
Ó ḃán ċnoic Éireann O!
Bíḋeann bárr ḃog slím ar ċaoin-ċnoic
Éireann,
Ban-ċnoic Éireann O!
'S as fearr 'na 'n tír-si díṫ gaċ sléiḃe
ann,
Bán ċnoic Éireann O!
Do b' árd a coillte 's bu díreaċ, réig,
'S a m-bláṫ mar aol air ṁaoilinn géig,
Atá gráḋ ag mo ċroiḋe a m'inntinn féin
Do ḃan ċnoic Éireann O!
Ata gasraḋ líonṁar a d-tír na h-Éir¬
eann,
Bán-ċnoic Éireann O!
'S fear-oin ġroiḋe na claoiḋfeaċ ceud¬
ta,
Ar ḃan-ċnoic Éireann O!
M'ḟaṫ-tuirse croiḋé! 's mo ċuiṁne
sgéal,
Iad ag Gall ṗoic síos fa ġréiḋim, mo
leun,
'S a m-bailte da roinn fa ċíos go daor,
Bán-ċnoic Éireann O!
Is fairsing 's as mór iad Cruaċaiḃ na
h-Éireann,
Bán-ċnoic Éireann O!
A g-cuid meala 'gus uaċdair ag gluais¬
eaċt na slaoda,
Ar ḃan-ċnoic Éireann O!
Raċad-sa ar cuairt, no is luaṫ mo ṡaoġ¬
al,
Do 'n talaṁ mín suairc is dual do
Ġaoḋal,
'S go m' fearr liom 'na duais, da uais¬
leaċt é, ḃeiṫ,
Ar ḃan-ċnoic Éireann O!
Sgaipeann an drúċt ar ġeaṁar 's ḟeur
ann,
Ar ḃan-ċnoic Éireann O!
'S fasaiḋ aḃlaḋ ċúḃarṫa ar ġeuga ann
Ar ḃan-ċnoic Éireann O!
Bíḋeann biolar 's saṁaḋ ann i n-gleann¬
taiḃ ceóḋaiġ,
'S na sroṫaiḃ san t-saṁraḋ ag laḃairt
uim neoin,
Uisge na Súire ag brúċt na slóġaiḋ,
Cois ban-ċnoic Éireann O!
Is osguilteaċ, fáilteaċ, an áit sin Éire
Ban-ċnoic Éireann O!
Bíḋeann "Toraḋ na Slainte" a m-barr
na déise,
A m-ban-ċnoic Éireann O!
Ba ḃinne liom na méaraiḃ ar ṫéadaiḃ
ceoil,
Seinnim 's géimreaḋ a laoġ, 's a m-bó,
Taiṫnioṁ na gréine orra aosda 's óg,
Ar bán-ċnoic Éireann O!
(Translation.)
THE FAIR HILLS OF EIRE O!
BY DONAGH [THE RED ] Mac CON-MARA.
AIR — Uaileacan Dubh O.
Take a blessing from my heart to the land of my
birth,
And the fair Hills of Eire, O,
And to all that yet survive of Eibher's tribe on
earth,
On the fair Hills of Eire O,
In that land so delightful the wild thrush’s lay
Seems to pour a lament forth for Eire's decay —
Alas, alas, why pine I a thousand miles away
From the fair Hills of Eire O.
The soil is rich and soft — the air is mild and bland
Of the fair Hills of Eire O,
Her barest rock is greener to Me than this rude
land —
O, the fair Hills of Eire O,
Her woods are tall and straight, grove rising over
grove ;
Trees flourish in her glens below, and on her
heights above,
O, in heart and soul, I shall ever, ever love
The fair Hills of Eire, O,
A noble tribe, moreover, are the now hapless Gael
On the fair Hills of Eire, O,
A tribe in Battle's hour unused to shrink or fail,
On the fair Hills of Eire, O,
For this is my lament in bitterness outpoured,
To see them slain or scattered by the Saxon sword
