670
AN GAOḊAL.
6
A! ṫainic sé ċugainn mar ċaraid,
'Gus d'éist sinn go h-amaideaċ ris,
Gur scap sé 'n ár measg an droċ spior¬
[aid
A d'ḟág sinn mar tá sinn anois.
Do rinn' sé an obair go cliste,
'S nuair ṁill sé ár n-aonḋaċd go deó,
Ḃí briaṫar an t-Sacsanaiġ briste
Ag Luimneaċ, 'sa log duḃ Ġleanncóe!
7
I laeṫiḃ na Gaeḋilge, do ṁair sinn
Le dílseaċt go téiṫ in gaċ croiḋe;
Sé'n Béarla, sé'n Béarla a sgar sinn,
A's d'ḟág sinn o ċéile a ċoiḋċ'!
Tá Srúṫán na Maoille le bliaḋanta'
Níos fairsinge eadrainn a' fás,
Oir leagaḋ an droiċead ḃí sínte
Ó Albain go h-Éirinn aḃus.
8
Cia aca is mian leat, a ḃraṫair, —
An Béarla no teanga do ṫír'?
An d-tréigfiḋ tú aḃráin do ṁaṫar,
'Gus ceól caṫaċ píoba, go síor?
Ha! deir tú ;— "Beiḋ Alba an t-sléiḃe
Mar aon le clann Éireann 'sa g-cúis
A g-cúram a d-teangan, — 'siad craoḃa
A d'ḟás ó aon ċrann ins a' d-tús."
9
Mo láṁ ḋuit! O! cluinim fíor-ḟúama
Ár nGaeḋilge arís ins an gaoiṫ,
Ag éiriġe as doiṁneaċd an tuama
'Na raiḃ siad le fada 'na luiḋe.
Anois táid a' líonaḋ na spéire ;—
Do ṁusgail ár n-daoine, — hurrá !
Oir so é an ceól tá ag éiriġe, —
"Clann Alban 'gus Éireann go ḃráṫ!"
"PÁDRAIC."
6
Ah ! he as a "friend”, came unto us,
And, fools, we gave heed to his vow ;
By wiles he contrived to undo us,
And left us prostrated as now.
His work of disunion completed —
To Sassanach "friendship" (?) we owe
The vengeance that ne’er can be sated,
For Lim'rick, and “Bloody Glencoe ! "
7
While Gaelic we spoke there abided
Affection's bright glow in each heart,
'Twas English ! cursed English ! divided,
And, ever since, left us apart!
Moyle's channel has, yearly, grown broader,
And deeper its tide seems to flow
Between us since came that marauder, —
And laid our connecting-bridge low.
8
Now, which do you love most, my brother,
The English — or tongue of your land?
Renounce you the songs of your Mother —
Her war-music stirring and grand?
Ha! say you — “The Scots of the Highlands,"
With Irish united shall be —
In guarding the tongue of both Islands,
Twin-branches they’ve grown from one tree !
9
Your hand | — Oh | I hear it resounding —
Our Gaelic once more, on the wind :
Erect from the grave it comes bounding,
Where long ’twas, in torpor, confined,
And now all the heavens 'tis filling —
The Gael's waking-shout — Oh | Hurrah |
For this their refrain, is soul thrilling,
“Clann Alba and Erin go Bragh!"
"PATRICK."
THE FAIRY BOY.
BY SAMUEL LOVER.
[The Irish of which appeared on page 657 of last
Gael.]
A mother came, when stars were paling,
Wailing ’round a lonely spring;
Thus she cried while tears were falling,
Calling on the Fairy King:
"Why with spells my child caressing,
Courting him with fairy joy;
Why destroy a mother’s blessing,
Wherefore steal my baby boy ?
"O’er the mountain, through the wild wood,
Where his childhood loved to play;
Where the flowers are freshly springing,
There I wander, day by day.
'There ! wander, growing fonder
Of the child that made my joy:
On the echoes wildly calling,
To restore my fairy boy.
“But in vain my plaintive calling,
Tears are falling all in vain ;
He now sports with fairy pleasure,
He’s the treasure of their train :
"Fare thee well, my child, forever,
In this world l’ve lost my joy,
But in the next we ne'er shall sever,
Then I'll find my angel boy."
The coming war between France and Germany
will be an arial one. It is said that the French can
destroy all the German fortifications by dynamite
dropped from baloons.
