THE RE-OPENING of THE IRISH SCHOOL
Brooklyn, Sept. 1st., 1895.
The following excellent stanzas have been sent us by the Society's
gifted Poetess, "Killdara,” on the re-opening of the Gaelic School
Oh, glad were the exiles of Green Innisfail
When they meet to revive the sweet tongue of the Gael,
Oh, the “Ceudh mile failthe,” and the clasp of the hand
That greeted each pilgrim from Erin's dear land —
Gave keenest delight to all as they came,
And blessed them a thousand fold over again.
Oh, the friendship renewed — the greetings exchanged
In the soft flowing Gaelic, our fond hearts inflamed ;
And the love they set glowing will ever burn bright
For our own Mother Erin — our pride and delight.
Oh, the joy of these moments was a foretaste of heaven,
And braced our glad spirits with a purpose God-given.
Yet the one thought that thrilled every heart in the hall
Was the cause that inspired — he bond that linked all,
The hearts of the patriots who love Mother-land —
Her language — her song — her music, so grand. —
Her story — her lore, — the writings of sages, —
Her poet's sweet fancies, — he glory of ages, —
Will be hers once again — if each does his part
In this grand renaissance, with will, and with heart.
This is the holiest work that will nerve mind, and soul
To do, and to dare while the seasons will roll. —
To lift up our language to its old nich of fame —
Then we 'll see Mother Erin a Nation again!!
CILLDARA.
Sasanaiġ a Breugaḋ h-Inġean — le A. LALLY.
"Ċolumbia, a stór, naċ tú an cailín breáġ, mór
Atá carṫanaċ, láġaċ le do ṫír ṁáṫarḋa,
'S tá gnó dod' ṁamaiḋ i g-cóṁairle uncle Sammiġ,
Go deiṁin ins an am a tá láṫair.
Tá fáṫ leis an tuiceaḋ a tá ḃ fuil ar g-cinneaḋ,
Naċ mé ṫug ḋuit gnás dliġe coitċean a's teangan
Le n-a ḃ-fuil tú gaċ lá buan dul ar aġaiġ,
'S ní 'l fear boċt in do ṫír aċ falsóir nó claḋaire.
Aċt tá roinn ded' ġarsúin, deir siad, ar seaċrán,
Tá siad bog, óg — creud iad aċt tucráin;
Níor ċíḋ mise ariaṁ 's ní ċíḋfead go deo,
Go raḃ briġ no táḃaċd i d-teagasg Ṁonroe.
Seo ḋá ċoṁairle ġeárr ḃeirim go m' inġín —
I g-ceannfuirt ġleoḋaċ ná cuir ċoiḋċe do ṁuinín,
Óir an te ċailleanns an caṫa tigeann air leun,
'S ar an áḋḃar sin umair do ċorraċán féin.
Codail a ċuisle, a's deunfaiḋ tú do leas
Má ligean tú ṫarrad gnóṫuiġ Re-riġṫe i n-Deas;
Tá ceart diaḃar agam-sa, gan gunnaiḋ ceud-troma
'Gus ní magaḋ ḃeiḋeas mé le tíriḃ lag dona.
Tá cúis imris eile eadrainn féin le réiḋteaċ,
Na róinte deasa boinionn atá sa muir Ṡuaṁneaċ.
Aċt go m-buailir séala ar mul-ċinn na cruinne,
Ni ligfead tórṫainn a ċur ar ċuantaiḃ na muire."
