AN GAODAL.
285
INNIS FÁIL.
Dedicated to the EDITOR OF THE GAEL.
Le
Tomás Ua Grioṁṫa,
Fonn, — Tara’s Harp.
Is iomḋa fear, is óigḃean deas,
Do ċonairc a n-Éirinn tráġa,
Le dliġṫiḃ cruaḋ' do ċuaiḋ tar muir,
Gan casa arís go bráṫ;
Buiḋeaċas fíor le Ríġ na n-Dúl,
Feicim ċúgam gan spás,
An taḃartas mór atá 'na g-cóṁair,
Féin-Riaġail a n-Innis-fáil.
Béiḋ gáir na d-téad ag file 's bárd
A molaḋ Dé go h-árd,
Is cléir na g-ceaċt faoi ċion 's gean
Ag Clanna Gaoḋal go bráṫ;
Ag riġ 's ag flaiṫ, 's ag taoiseaċ teann
Béiḋ féastaiġe 's fleaḋ' air clár,
Ag mná 's ag fir béiḋ daṁsa 's sult
'S féin-riaġail a n-Innis-fáil.
An sin béiḋ Gaoḋail ans gaċ tír
Faoi ṁeas mar ḃí fad ó,
Béiḋ an ṁeirge-ġlas air leaṫaḋ arís,
Mar ḃí ag Brian na slóġ;
Béiḋ creidioṁ Ċríost' ans gaċ críoċ
Faoi réim, mar ḃí ag Eoġain,
Agus Éireannaiġ d'a ċraoḃ-sgaoil',
Ans gaċ ríoġaċt fé 'n g-coróin.
[You, West Britons, Do you feel sad at not being
able to give vent to anticipated joy in the language
of your Nation like our friend Griffin? If you do cir¬
culate your literature as a soothing balm, — Ed. G].
Camp N. S., Co. Kerry,
April 16th '93.
A Ṡaoi Ḋílis,
Istiġ san nóta so ġeaḃair orduġaḋ
air a d-taḃairfear trí sgillinge ḋuit,
atáim a' cur ċugat ċum go g-cuirfeá
agam An Gaoḋal air feaḋ bliaḋain.
Biḋeaḋ uiḃir an Ṁárta an ċeud ċeann
cuirfir ċugam.
Do fuaras naoi uiḃreaċa de'n Ġao¬
ġal ó America tímċioll le cúpla mí ó
ṡoin. Ní ḟeadair cia h-é an duine ua¬
sal fial a ċuir ċugam iad, aċt táim
an-ḃuiḋeaċ de go h-áiriġṫeaṫ,
JEREMIAH DEANE.
[The Gael has got some of its best
supporters in the old land through its
reception from friends here; the Mayo
"Scotch-Irish' episode, related in the
last issue, emphasize the necessity of
sending as many Gaels as possible to
England and Scotland. It is an edu¬
cation to them— Ed. G]
EARLY IN THE MORNING.
Air. — Fair Innis-fallen.
(From the Irish of An Gabhar Donn.)
1
The morning dawn illumes the sphere,
The dew is sparkling on each flower;
There’s joy on every thing entire,
Oh! wake my love in beauty's bower.
2
The zephyr now is breathing bland,
The birds are warbling in the wood ;
Come with me, we'll walk hand in hand,
Beside the stream in loving mood.
3
The grass is smooth, we now can go
Together, as the bird with cheer
Is singing, but alas! my woe !
I see thee not. Thou dost not hear.
4
Beneath thy window, length of time,
I'm waiting lone for thee asthore ;
Oh wake, come give affection's sign
To me. Hast slept not yet galore ?
5
For thy sweet voice, I hear the bay
Of hound, Oh! better far the treat ;
To listen to thy converse gay,
In shade of trees, seat by seat.
6
In weakness now, I plainly see,
I must to disappointment bow;
'Twas my fond hope thou'dst come to me,
But sadder made, I'm wiser now.
7
I'll go no more at early morn,
To break upon thy tranquil sleep ;
I'll stay at home in bed forlorn,
Though great my wish with thee to meet.
8
But when the sun withdraws its light,
I'll be beside thee — loved one ;
I'll whisper in thy ears all night,
My fond desires, till daylight come.
9
The night to me in distance looms,
The day seems long and very drear;
My heart within is filled with gloom.
When shall I see thy face, my dear?
ANON.
O’Faherty's Siamsa an Ġeiṁriḋ, re¬
viewed in the Gaoḋal recently, is for
sale by Mr P. O'Brien, 46 Cuffe St.
Dublin The price in cloth is 2s: in
wrapper, 1s 6d.
