﻿626
AN GAOḊAL.
A VOICE FROM DUBLIN.
Mr. Patrick O'Brien, of Cuff Street, Dublin,
writes, — The following song is founded on a tradi¬
tion prevalent among the people in the vicinity
that an ancient city, with fine land adjoining it, is
seen every seventh year, and sometimes oftener, by
the fishermen and others, off the Blackrock coast
near Dundalk. The old people used to tell many
wild stories about the inhabitants of this enchant¬
ed city, and assert that some of their offspring
still live at Blackrock.
Maidin ċiuin ḋom cois bruaċ na tráġa
Buḋ ṁilis bláṫ beag ann air gaċ craoiḃ;
Buḋ ḃinn liom ceileaḃar na n-eun a n-
áirde
Is ḋam buḋ sáiṁ iad 'san m-ball lem'
ṫaoib.
Trom-ḟuaim na d-tonn n-geal, ḃíḋ 'n
eala air snáṁ ann,
'S an ċuaċ in áirde air ċrann na suiḋe,
Loinnir neaṁa a teaċt o 'n t-sáile,
'S na spéiriḋe a gáire le fáinne 'n lae!
Ḃí 'n ḃeaċ na cluainnaire ag deunaḋ
ruaircais,
As iasga uaisle 'na m-buiḋean air láiṁ;
Caoirṫe 's uain ann go meanmaċ luaim¬
neaċ,
Súd fuaim na luaṫ-ḃarc ag teaċt o 'n
t-snáṁ.
Laiṫre ag fuacas fa ċarrgiḃ uaisle,
As macnaiḋe ċruaḋga faoi lan a sgeiṫ,
An drúċt ag snuġaḋ le ceaṫaiḃ nuaḋ-
ṁealla,
Is dair n-doiġ gur suḃáilceaċ dealraḋ
an lae.
Ḃád maiġdne mara cois tuinne, luaṫ-
ġáirca,
Ḃí brata uaiḃreaċa dul le gaoiṫ,
Sluaiġte armáil an ċara 'g suaḋ'teaċt
A ḃearaḋ fuascailt do Ċlannaiḃ Gao¬
ḋal :
Stuic na mear g-caiṫ ag sin go h-uaiḃ¬
reaċ
Is an ġuaraiḋ uasal ag gealla spreiḋ
Do ċaċ a ċosno'ḋ a g-caṫ an uair sin,
'S na'r ḋam buḋ luaṫġáireaċ le deal¬
raḋ an lae.
Ṫríd coilltiḃ coll dlúṫa ḃaḋ a n-gluais¬
eaċt,
Mar raiḃ aḃla snuaḋ-ḋeasa air gaċ
taoiḃ;
Measa milse air ḃárr na maol-ḋraes'
A's suḃa cuṁra ann air gaċ craoiḃ.
Ṡíleas féin gur b'é párrṫas naoṁṫa é,
Is go raḃ fuascailt do Ċlannaiḃ Gao¬
ḋal,
Aċ mo ṁíle mairg! air mo ḟeuċainn
suas uaim,
Ní ḟacas aon-ċruṫ aċ dealraḋ an lae.
A beautiful, though not a literal, translation of
the above poem is given in page 357 of “Poems by
James Clarence Mangan," published by Haverty,
New York, 1883. I believe the Irish portion was
never published and I took it from one of the ma¬
nuscripts in the library of the Royal Irish Acade¬
my.
P. O'BRIEN.
THERE IS A HOPE FOR IRELAND STILL.
There is a hope for Ireland still.
There is a way for every will;
There is a saying of Columkille —
Let skeptics sneer :
There is a God that shall fulfil —
The time is near.
A God that knows the hearts of all,
Of rich and poor, of great and small,
Behold the cup of Myrrh and gall,
By whom 'twas given
And treasures up his wrath to fall —
A while in Heaven.
Will shortly deal his chast'ning hand,
And purge that soil our native land,
Of Saxon foe, and slavish brand;
Too long there borne.
Restore our rights we now demand;
We shall return —
From what we know and see and hear,
The time no doubt is drawing near,
Perhaps it may be in one year,
No matter when;
We ready are, will volunteer,
We're Irish-men.
We have now some of nerve and mind,
To lead us on and all our kind,
To face that foe we left behind,
And them repay —
That ruthless clan that did us grind,
With despot sway.
Resolve, prepare, let all be right,
Your powder dry, your sabres bright,
You know not when, the day or night,
The trumpet sounds;
Exiles, arise, charge on, and fight,
Nor spare these hounds.
Pay down the debt burst off the chain,
That sank you deep in woe and pain,
Let ev'ry stroke their hearts' blood drain,
As yours of yore,
Let mountain hill and marsh and plane
Drink up their gore.
Departed shades of Irish birth,
Who lie beneath your native earth,
Restore to us your manly worth,
Our souls inspire.
To chase our foe from hall and hearth,
With sword and fire:
