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AN GAOḊAL.
BRIAN MAC SUIḂNE.
Mr. J. J. Lyons, of Phila. Pa. sends us this
song from the dictation of Mr. Daniel Connolly.
Air — Youghal Harbor.
?
Carraigín an Árais,
A Ḃriain Ṁic Suiḃne mo ċúig ceud slán
duit,
Is deas é do ġáire 's do leagan súl;
Buḋ deirge do gruaḋ 'ná na róra gáir¬
dín,
'S buḋ gile ḋo ḃráġa 'na sneaċta o'n
[tuaiġ.
A d-teaċ an leanna buḋ tú ceann na
céile,
A deunaḋ réiḋtiġ 's d'a g-cur o cáin;
'S an truaiġ leat mise 's mo leanḃ ig
geurḋul,
Le cuṁa do ḋiaiġ ní ḃeiḋ mé beo.
A Ḃriain, a ṫéagair, an truaġ leat mé
éagcaoin,
'S mo leanḃ aig geurġul air mo ḃroinn;
Mo ċúiplín lag agam gan ḃriġ gan éif¬
eaċt,
'S a g-cúl le ċéile agam air mo ḋruim :
Luċt na ḃ-fiaċ a teaċt d'a n-éalaṁ.
Aċt, faraor geur, is lag mo ġeall;
'Meireaċ Donnċaḋ 'gus Séamus, go m-
buḋ ḃuan iad saoġalaċ,
Ċeannuiġ ḋam a m-béile 'nuair i ḃí sé
gann.
A stóirín, ḃí súil agam go ḃ-fillfeá a
g-coṁnuiḋe,
Go n deaċaiḋ tú ag tóireaċt do ṁeag¬
[usain;
Go raḃ arm Ṡeóirse air gaċ taoḃ de'n
m-bóṫar,
'S iad d'a seólaḋ i ḃ-fad o ṫír:
Dá ḃ-faġainn cead seasta i loirg a
bróigín,
Ṫóigfeaḋ sé an ceó díom 's tuirse de
[mo ċroiḋe;
Dúiṫċe Ġóruiġ, ciḋ go m-ḃuḋ mór í,
Go d-taḃarfainn air mo stóirín a's
filleaḋ arís.
Tá súil le Muire agam 's le Riġ an
Doṁnaiġ,
'S le Muire Ṁáṫair nár ṗeaċaiḋ 'riaṁ,
Go m-beiḋ an Suiḃneaċ san m-baile a g-
coṁnuiḋe,
'S naċ m-beiḋ punt bróin air no briseaḋ
[croiḋe;
Go m-beiḋ discharte ġlan aige air ṫóin
a ṗóicín,
'S pension mór aige a teaċt o'n riġ;
Go m-beiḋ umbrela os cionn a ċlóicín,
S é go spóirteaṁuil san m-baile arís.
AN IRISHMAN’S DAUGHTER.
Air — “Seaghan Buidhe."
Written by Wm. Russell for the GAEL.
Though lovingly smile in the Emerald Isle,
The shamrock and dell-decking daisy ;
Illumined by Sol's eye, when he peers thro' the sky,
With vision not clouded, or hazy;
Yet the blossom, that gleams in the Eden of streams,
On the vesture which Flora has wrought her,
In whose petals unite, most the rose flush and
white,
Is truly an Irishman’s Daughter.
She's the crimson-fleck'd flower, of love's airy bow¬
er —
The full-tufted apple tree, blooming;
She's the dawn's mellow light, thro' the portal of
night
When Phoebus his throne is assuming.
She's the planet that glows, when late hesperus
throws
Its beams, on the blue billow'd water;
And her line, without fail, to the kings of the Gael,
Can be traced by an Irishman’s Daughter.
Though bright be the roses that summer discloses,
I deem them but baubles of nature,
Whose beauty ne’er vies, with the lustre of eyes,
When intellect lightens each feature;
And tho' mild be the sheen, of fair Luna, the queen
In the beam by a borrow'd blaze brought her,
Yet imaged to me, in her mirror I see
The face of an Irishman’s Daughter.
Oh! would you but hear what has made her so
dear,
So charming, so lovely, so gaining:
So cherished, so prized, and so much idolized —
My soul to her spirit enchaining;
It is not for blushing, with beauties ripe flushing
My heart has instinctively sought her ;
But that shrined in her core, is the truth I a¬
dore —
Endearing an Irishman’s Daughter.
Full oft when the mild light, of eve's fitting twi¬
light,
The curtain of night has unfolded,
And the pure, azure robe, that includeth the globe,
With star-dusted spangles is golded —
A shape meet to shine, in the concave divine,
'Mong symbols celestial, l’ve thought her,
To bless with her smile, that sweet bloom-breast¬
ed isle
Whose pride is an Irishman’s Daughter.
With the fervor and geal, which the virtuous feel —
A Celt as has willed her Creator;
She prides in the brave who would wield valors
g aive,
Despising the coward and traitor:
And clear of the flaws, in humanity’s laws —
This maxim her honor has taught her :
To more precious hold, than earth's coveted gold,
The fame of an Irishman’s Daughter.
