116
AN GAOḊAL.
I found in Meath — air principality —
Virtue, vigor, and hospitality ;
Candor, joyfulness, bravery, purity;
Ireland’s bulwark and security.”
July 1, 1690, the Irish, who always took the
part of the Stuarts, were signally defeated near
Drogheda, by the forces of William III., who led
them in person ; while James II. took his place on
the neighbouring hill of Donore, and was the first
to fly away when he saw the issue of the contest
was no longer doubtful. Hurrying to Dublin he
exclaims to the Countess of Tyrconnel, the lord-
lieutenant's lady, “Your countrymen, madam, can
run well:” “but” responded the spirited lady, “I
see your Majesty has won the race." For James
was the first who bore the saddening intelligence
of his own signal defeat.”
Iona or Icolmkill, West Scotland — This island is
about 3ms. in length, and 1 in breadth and haa a
population of 450.
According to Munro Dean of the Isles in the
16th century, 4 kings of Ireland, 8 kings of Nor-
way, and 48 kings of Scotland were buried here
These are the emotions felt by a poet on visit-
ing lona.
"Ye who have sailed ’mong the thousand isles
Where proud Iona rears its giant piles,
Perchance have linger'd at that sacred spot,
To muse on men and ages half forgot;
Though spoil'd by time, their mould’ring walls
avow
A calm that e'en the sceptic might allow;
Here wher the waves these time-worn caverns beat,
The early Christian fixed his rude retreat;
Here first the symbol of his creed unfurled,
And spread religion o'er a darken'd world.
Here as I kneel beside this moss grown fane,
The moon sublimely holds her noiseless reign
Through roofless piles the stars serenely gleam,
And light these arches with their yellow beam,
While the loan heart amid the cloistered gloom
Indulge thoughts that soar beyond the tomb.
All beauteous night! how lovely is each ray,
That e'en can add a splendor to decay!
For lo! where saints have heaved the pious sigh
The dusky owl sends forth his fearful cry!
Here too we mark where yon pale beam is shed,
The sattered relics of the mighty dead.
The great of old — the meteors of an age —
The sceptred monarch. and the mitred sage ;
What are they now? the victims of decay —
The very worm has left its noisome prey.
And yet blest shapes ! if such a night as his
Can tempt your spirits from yon isles of bliss,
Perchance ye now are floating throagh the air
And breathe the stilness which I seem to share."
DÁ M-BEIḊEAḊ SPRÉ AIG AN G-
CAT.
If the Cat had a Fortune,
Dá m-beiḋeaḋ spré aig an g-cat is
deas a pósaiḋe ṡé,
Ní'l, mo ċreaċ! no aig an te ar ċóra é :
Inġíon na caillaiġe giobaiġe pósta ó réir
'S' liaċt cailín deas gan fios cia d'
iarróċaḋ ṡí.
A ċáirde gaoil! caoiniḋ máraċ mé,
A m' ṗósaḋ do mnaoi, 'sgan m' intinn
sástaḋ leí;
Mar ġeall air ḃeagán maoin naċ
feárrde mé,
Trí ba, caora, 's siṫḃreog mna gan ċéil.
Ṫreaḃfainn, d' ḟuirsinn 's ċuirfinn
síol a g-cré,
Do ṡeolfainn ba air an g-curraċ is
cúmra feur;
Ċuirfinn crú faoi 'n eaċ is deise ṡiúḃ-
al an saoġal riaṁ,
A's d'eolóċaḋ bean le fear naċ n-deun-
óċaḋ sin féin.
A cailín deas, do leas nár ḋéanaiḋ tú
A ċraide gan raṫ is measa cáil a's clú
Nár ċlos' ó do ḃa 'san maċa géim no
liúġ,
'S nár ḟaġaḋ tú ceart aii neaċ go d-
téiḋir ann úir.
air: Petrie's
A.I.M. No 386?
AN T-ASAL A N-OIFIGE.
The Ass in Office:
Am airiġṫe do ḃí Asal aig iomċar
íoṁaiġ a g-coiṁṫional ḋiaḋa ṫríd an
m-baile, agus an meud daoine a ċuaiḋ
ṫairis d' uṁlaiḋ siad ḋó go h-ómósaċ.
Ṡaoil rn t-Asal gur dó ḟéin a ḃí an ó-
nóir ṁór seo tairgṫe, agus mar sin,
dó ḃí bróid ċo mór air dá ḃárr agus
naċ siúḃalóċaḋ sé cois-céim eile. Aċt
go goirid, leag an te ḃí da ṫiomáint an
maide tréasna a ḋrama, aiġ ráḋ 'san
am ceudna, "A aṁlóir ainġlice! ní
ḋuit-se ḋeunas siad an onóir act do'n
íoṁaiġ a tá tú aig iomċar."
Saoileann daoine dí-ċéiliġe gur dóiḃ
féin an meas a tugṫar do 'n cúis a m-
biḋeann siad tóġṫa suas leis.
