30
AN GAOḊAL.
Seáġan Ua Duiḃir an Ġleanna.
This beautiful Jacobite song by Eoghan Ruadh
is adapted to the air of Seaghan O'Duibhir an
Ghleanna, of which the original song, with trans¬
lation by the late Thomas Furlong, will be found
at page 86, vol. ii. of Hardiman's Irish Minstrelsy
Colonel John O'Dwyer, for whom the song was
composed, was a distinguished officer who com¬
manded in Waterford and Tipperary in 1651, but
after the capitulations, sailed from the former port
with five hundred of his faithful followers for
Spain. The O'Dwyers were a branch of the Her¬
emonians of Leinster, and possessed the present
baronies of Kilnemanach, in Tipperary. From
an early period they were remarkable for their cou¬
rage, and after the expatriation of the old Irish no¬
bility, several of the family distinguished them¬
selves abroad in the Irish Brigade. In the last
century General O'Dwyer was Governor of Bel¬
grade, and Admiral O'Dwyer displayed great bra¬
very in the Russian service.
— TUAM NEWS.
[Yes, the Irish have gone with a vengeance, and
are closing up England's work-shops and factories
to-day ! — Ed. G.]
Mo ċás, mo ċaoi! mo ċeasḃaḋ!
An fáṫ ṫug claoiḋte an easḃaḋ!
Faiġe, daoiṫe, 's sagairt,
Dáiṁ agus cléir!
Gan dáin da rioṁ le aitios,
Gan ráiḋte grinn dá g-canaḋ:
Gan sáiṁ-ċruit ḃinn dá spreagaḋ,
A m-ban-ḃrogaiḃ réiḋ !
Gaċ raiḃ d'ḟuil Ṁíliḋ ċeannais,
Láidir, laoċda, ṫapa;
Ba ġnáṫaċ rainceaċ, raṫaċ,
Lán-oilte air faoḃar!
Gan stát, Gan buiḋean, gan fearann,
Ar is míle measaḋ
Na Seáġan Ua Duiḃir an Ġleanna
A ḃeiṫ fágṫaḋ gan Game!
Tráiṫ a raoir am leabaḋ,
Ag cásaṁ díṫ na seaḃaċ,
Ṫáinic sguim gan sgaipeaḋ
Ó láṁaiḃ Morpheus!
Faoi'm ḋáil go sílteaċ, seasgair,
Táṁaċ, tím, gan taise,
D'ḟág mé air díṫ mo ṫapaiḋ,
'Gus d'árduig mo neul!
Gan spás a tiġeaċt do ḋearcas,
Fáingeaċ, ġrínn tre m' aisling,
Go h-áluinn, íogair, aibig,
Táite le m' ṫaoḃ.
'S gur ḃreáġṫaḋ línn, gan bladar,
Sgáil 's aoiġir a leacan,
Ná 'n ṁánlaḋ ṁín le'r cailleaḋ
Gárda na Trae!
Ba ċáblaċ, cíorṫa, casda,
Táclaċ, dlaoiṫeaċ, daṫaċ,
Sgáinneaċ, trínseaċ, fada
Fáingeaċ go feur,
A bláṫ-ḟolt bínneaċ, leaḃair,
Cárnaċ, bíseaċ, snamaċ,
Ó árd a cínn na n-dlaṫaiḃ,
Táiṫ-leaḃair léi,
Ḃí sgáil na g-caor air lasaḋ
Tre ḃáine an líṫ na leacain,
Mándaċt, míne, 's maise
Táite 'na sgéiṁ!
'S a saṁ-rosg rín le 'r ċealg,
Táinte laoiċ gan tapaḋ!
Sásta 's ionann mala
Árd-snuiḋte, caol.
[This song, which every Irishman should learn,
will be concluded in the next issue.]
TRANSLATION.
O source of lamentation !
Bitter tribulation.
That I see my nation
Fallen down so low !
See her sages hoary,
Once the island's glory,
Wandering without story
Or solace, to and fro.
Mileadh’s offspring knightly
Powerful, active, sprightly,
They who wielded lightly
Weighty arms of steel,
Left with no hopes higher,
With griefs ever nigher,
Worse woes than O'Dwyer
Of the Glens could feel !
Last night sad and pining,
As I lay reclining,
Sleep at length came twining
Bands around my soul;
Then a maiden slender,
Azure-eyed and tender,
Came, me dreamt, to render
Lighter my deep dole.
Fair she was, and smiling,
Bright and woe-beguiling ;
Vision meet for wiling
Grief, and bringing joy.
None might e'er compare her
With a maiden fairer —
O! her charms were rarer
Than the Maids of Troy.
Like that damsel’s olden
Flowed her tresses golden,
In rich braids enfolden,
To the very ground ;
Thickly did they cluster.
In a darling muster,
And in a matchless lustre,
Curled around aud round.
The red berry’s brightness,
And the lily's whiteness,
Comeliness and lightness,
Marked her face and shape.
She had eye-brows narrow,
Eyes that thrilled the marrow
And from whose sharp arrow
None could e'er escape.
