276
AN GAOḊAL.
Mr. O'Callaghan's Letter and Song.
A Ṡaoi.
Glacaim le lán ḃuiḋeaċais an cuir¬
eaḋ ṫug an Gaoḋal do na scolairiḃ ó¬
ga, se sin, sgríoḃ do réir a d-tuigsint
is a d-tuairim féin. Tá dóċus láidir
agam gur a dul a ḃ-feaḃas a ḃeiḋeas
siad ó am go h-am. Is mian liom beag¬
an a raḋ air Ċeist na h-Éireann, gan
a dul níos sia siar na an ḃeanríoġan
laiṫireaċ. Ó 'n la cuireaḋ coróin air
a ceann ta feall d'a ḋeunaḋ is fuil d'
a ḋórtaḋ in gaċ rann de'n dóṁan a ḃ-
fuil cuṁaċt aici.
Is go mór ṁór in Éirinn, tír
ar n-graḋ, is féidir a ráḋ, & sin go
fírinneaċ, nár árduiġ sí a guṫ i riaṁ
mar ċóṁara cosaint air na milliún ata
faoi na cúram. Is dóiġ liom go d-tug¬
ann se sasaṁ mór di iad a scapaḋ is
a sgrios ó ḃliaḋain go bliaḋain. Ní 'l
aċ seal geárr ó ḃí na príosúin líonta
le sagartaiḃ & le tírġráċ, & le plúr na
mnaiḃ, gan cuir gan cúis aċ aṁáin graḋ
saoirseaċt a d-tír féin.
Duḃairt Éamonn Aḃúrca lá da raiḃ
se, da gcruinnóċ na diaḃail is malluiġ¬
ṫe a ḃ-fíor iaċtair iofrainn is cóṁair¬
le le na ċéile, níor ḃ' ḟéidir leo aon
dlíġeaṁ a ċur air bun níos measa ná
atá os cionn na n-Éireannaiḃ leis na
ceudtaiḃ bliaḋan. 'Nuair a ḃiḋim-sé
insa n-uaigneas is gnaṫaċ liom, smuain¬
eaḋ air anaċur is anṡoġ mo ċairde dí¬
lis, cuirim mo ġuiḋ' ċum Dé slainte ṁaiṫ
is saoġal fada a ḃronnaḋ air Ṗárnell
is air na tréin ḟir a tá congnaṁ leis.
Duḃras go minic, & deirim arís é, an
t-uaċdarán no an u-íoċdarán no ce b'
é duine ṫugas congnaṁ no caḃair do'n
acmie ṁalluiġṫe. le briaṫar no le
gníoṁ, ní fiú a leiṫid sin do ḋuine
uaiṁ ḟáġail tar éis a ḃáis i d-talaṁ
beannuiġṫe na h-Éireann.
Ḃí an ġaoṫ in iar is an stoirm 'g eiriġe
Is an long i boga air ḃárrna d-tonn,
Is mo rún i luasca ḃ-fad ó na maimín,
A croiḋe go buarṫa fágaint a cuan.
Mo ṁíle slán leat, a ċroiḋe na páirte
Is duḃaċ an sgeul é, is me liom féin
In uaigneas ġleanna fa scail na g-cran
ġlas
Gan bríġ in mo ċnaṁa ċum riṫ no léim
Slán go d-teiġ tú ó ṫir de ṡinsear,
Ameasg do ġaoltaiḃ tá ḃ-fad ó ḃrón,
Bi rinc 's ceol ann is punsh air bord an,
'S fáilte ,s fial roṁat ċum mo ṡlaint¬
e d'ól.
A Éiḃlín ṁín ḋeas. ma ḃeiḋeann tú
dílis,
Geallaim óm' ċroiḋe duit go m-beiḋid-
se buan,
Do ṫug me gean duit tar ṁnaiḃ na h-
Éireann,
Tá mo ċroiḋe d'a reubaḋ is mo ċodla
gan súan!
GOD SAVE IRELAND.
Air — “Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are march¬
ing."
High upon the gallows tree
Stood the noble-hearted three,
By the vengeful tyrant stricken in their bloom,
But they met him face to face
With the courage of their race,
And they went with souls undaunted to their doom
"God save Ireland!” said the heroes;
"God save Ireland!” said they all;
“Whether on the scaffold high
“Or on the battlefield we die,
"Oh, what matter, when for Erin dear we fall!"
Girt around with cruel foes,
Still the spirit proudly rose,
For they thought of hearts that loved them far and
near;
Of the millions true and brave
O’er the ocean's swelling wave,
And the friends in Holy Ireland ever dear
"God save Ireland!” said they proudly
"God save Ireland!” said they all;
"Whether on the scaffold high,” &c.
Climbed they up the rugged stair,
Rung their voices out in prayer,
Then with England’s fatal cord around them cast
Close beneath the gallows tree,
Kissed liked brothers lovingly,
True to home and faith and freedom to the last.
"God save Ireland!” prayed they loudly,
“God save Ireland!” said they all:
"Whether on the scaffold high." &c.
