AN GAOḊAL
133
ṁéid sin os a b-pócṫa air ṡon teanga a
d-tíre? Is fíor é, dá n-íocóċaḋ an
ṁéid a d' orduiġ é, ní ḃeiḋeaḋ muid
aon ṗiġinn os póca, agus is doiġ linn go
n-íocfaiḋ ; aċt "Fáġann na ba bás ċo
fad' as ḃiḋeas an feur a fás."
Ní ḋéaróċamuid dadaiḋ timċioll an
rud seo aċt ṁeas muid go mb' ḟéidir
gur sgríoḃ an Saoi Ruiséal ċum daoine
uaisle eile; agus is maiṫ linn an ṁuin-
tir a tá tógṫa suas go fírinneaċ san
obair ṫírġráḋaṁalaċ seo a gċur air a
n-aireaċas. Deunfamuid ar n-diṫċioll,
agus iarrfaiḋ muid cungnaṁ ar d-tír-
eaċa d' an Ġaoḋal.
NEW YORK, AUG. 24, 1882.
Editor of the Gaodhal. — Dear Sir.
I noticed the following little song in the UNIT-
ED IRISHMAN of Aug. 19, and I thought to put
it in an Irish coat. If you think it worth putting in
the GAEL you are welcome to it-
Yours truly,
Thomas D. Norris.
AḂRÁN NA h-ÉIRENN.
Focla le I. Ua Ruaiġín.
Fonn — An "Cailín d' ḟág me mo ḋiaiġ,
Aṫarruiġṫe leis an taoiseaċ tír-
ġráḋaċ, Caiptín Tomás Ṁic
Dáiḃí de Norraiḋ, ó Ṗílo-Celtiġ
an Éaṁraiḋ Nuaḋ.
(ERIN'S SONG).
Words by J. Ryan.
Translated by that patriotic chieftain, Captain
Thomas D. Norris, of the New York Philo-
Celtic Society, from THE UNITED IRISH-
MAN; the organ of the Advanced Nation-
alists.
Ó! d'ḟas na laeṫe go faiḋ na m-bliaḋan
A's na bliaḋanta go h-aoisiḃ liaṫ-ġlas,
Ó ṗóg na deorṫa air d-tús mo ġné,
A's ó ċaill mo ġlóire a soillseaċd,
Aċt fós trí eagla a's trí ṫrioblóid,
Nuair ḃuail donas mé a's diaċair,
Do ṁair astiġ am' ċroiḋe, gan tóṁas,
Dóṫċus riaṁ nár ṫréiġ mé.
Gíḋeaḋ brúiġte tinn le h-olc na n-diaḃal
Go h-eadóṫċus anois seolta,
Gíḋeaḋ riaġluiġ dorċaċḋ os ar g-cionn,
A's gan splanc ó neaṁ d'ár d-teoraċd,
An ṁuiníġin ḃí beo am uċt gan sgíṫ,
A's do ċosain mé na h-aonar,
Ċum gur sona ḃeiḋinn 'san am atá ag
teaċd,
Faoi ṁórán meas a's treunas.
Gíḋeaḋ brúiġte síos faoi ualaċ bróin,
Do ṡeas mé a g-cóṁnuiḋe fógraċ,
Díreaċ, dána, an aġaiḋ mo náṁaid,
A's ní mar ḋéarcóir suaraċ;
Go síoruiḋe do éiliġ mé mo ċeart,
Air máġ a troid 'sa seanaid,
A's gíḋ gur claoiḋeaḋ mé anns an gcaṫ,
Ġeoḃad é nó an bás an aonad !
Am anam braiṫim é go fíor!
Laḃarṫar é mór-dtimċioll,
Gur geárr go m-beiḋ an báire liom,
'San t-aintiġearna, do ruag mé, caillt
An Fleasg arís air mo ċeann mar ḃí,
Ann aimsir ṁaiṫ na saoirse,
A's ní ḃeiḋ air tír ná an n-ifrion ṡíos,
Neart mé do ċur a n-daoirse!
(Translation.)
Ah! days have lengthened unto years,
And years to ages hoary,
Since first my face was kissed by tears,
And shadowed was my glory ;
But yet, throughout that fearful time,
When every ill assailed me,
There lived within my heart sublime
A hope that never failed me!
Though sore oppressed by demons vile,
To grim despair nigh driven ;
Though darkness reigned supreme the while,
And no light beamed from Heaven,
The hope that lived within my breast,
And was my sole defender —
That in the future I'd be blest
With more than former splendor!
Though crushed beneath a weight of woe,
l’ve always stood defiant,
Erect, before the haughty foe,
And not a base suppliant;
Aye, boldly I have claimed my right,
In battle-field and senate,
And though defeated in the fight,
I'Il die — or yet I'll win it !
I feel it in my very soul!
'Tis whispered all around me !
That soon again I'll reach the goal
Where first the despot found me !
That soon again I'Il don the wreath
Which freedom erst entwined me,
And that on earth or hell beneath;
No power again can bind me!
