AN GAOḊAL
33
BAILE GARRḊA,
Condae Ṁuiġeo,
An t-Oċtṁaḋ lá Márta, 1895.
Dearḃraiṫirín Ó Mo Ċroiḋe!
A ḋearḃraiṫirín ḋílis is fada ó d' imṫiġ tú uainn,
Ṫú féin 's mo ḋearḃṡiúr air ċóisde na maile doinn;
An sin ḃí mo spioraid ċo h-éadtrom le sinneán gaoi,
Aċ is trom 'nois mo ċoiscéim, a ḋearḃraiṫirín O mo ċroiḋe.
A ċáirde ann uair sin ḃí tusa féin láidir teann,
Níor ḃ'ḟéidir do leiṫéid ḟáġail 'san áit seo in uimir no gleann,
Aċ cluinim go ḃ-fuil tú anois dul ann ísle briġ,
Á, buḋ ṁór, ṁór an sgeul sin, a ḋearḃraiṫirín, O mo ċroiḋe.
Maiseaḋ! a gcuiṁniġeann tú ar Ṁártan na gruige doinn,
'Nuair i ḃiḋ tú fágḃáil Roundfort ag imṫeaċt uainn?
Ġeall tú a g-cúig m-blaḋna go d-tiocfá ar ċóiste an riġ,
Á, is fada na cúig m-bliaḋna * iad, a ḋearḃraiṫirin, O mo ċroiḋe
'Nuair a d' imṫiġ tú, a ċáirde, ḃí m' aṫair is mo ṁáṫair beo,
Ṁair siad seal bliaḋna 's d' imṫiġ siad uainn do deo;
Ċo fad 's is leur liom ṁair siad deiċ m-bliaḋna 's trí,
'S d'ḟág mise brónaċ, a ḋearḃraiṫirín, Ó mo ċroiḋe.
Is maiṫ an sgeul duitse go raiḃ tú i ḃ-fad ó 'n ár,
'S naċ ḃ-facaiḋ tú sínte iad, caointe iad, os cionn cláir;
Aċ an te ḟanas 'sa m-baile beiḋ brón air a's anró ċoiḋ'
'S fuair mise mo ṡáiṫ ḋíoḃ, a ḋearḃraiṫirín, O mo ċroiḋe.
Níor sgríoḃ tú aig m'aṫair nó mo ṁáṫair aċ litir nó ḋó,
Do ċaill tú do nádúr ó d'ḟág tú féin Condae Ṁuiġeo;
'Nois cuir agam litir a's do ṗictiúr a ċongḃóċas mé ċoiḋ',
Agus pógfaiḋ mé féin iad, a ḋearḃraiṫirín, O mo ċroiḋe.
Martan O'Mia-
* Oċt m-bliaḋana deug agus fiṫċeaḋ.
The following is a semiliteral translation to make
the poem more easily read. —
Dear brother it is a long time since you left us.
You and my sister on the brown mail coach;
Then my spirits were as light as a breeze of wind,
But my step is now heavy my dear brother.
My friend at that time you were stout and strong,
Your equal could not be got here on hill or valley,
But I hear that now you are on the decline —
Ah, more is the pity, my dear brother.
Well! friend do you think of Martin the brown hair¬
ed
When you were leaving Ronndfort leaving us ?
You promis'd you'd return in five years on the king's
[coach
They are a long five years, my dear brother.
When you went, my friend, my father and mother
[lived;
They lived some years and left us for ever,
As far as I can remember they lived 10 & 3 years,
And left me mournful, dear brother of my heart.
A good story for you that you were far from the
slaughter,
And that you did not see them stretched, cried, o’er
[board,
But he who stops at home will have sorrow & mis¬
fortune ever,
And I got enough of it, my dear brother.
You wrote to my father & mother but a letter or two
Ah ! you lost the nature since you left the Co Mayo,
Now send me a letter and your picture that I'll keep
for ever,
And myself will kiss them, dear brother of my heart
