326
AN GAOḊAL
Síos-amaċ 'n ait a ḃ-fasan an seamróg go breaġa,
Inns na cúntaeṫi Dairiġ, Feirṁeanaḋ 'gus Caḃan,
Fanad go nglaoġfar me ċum soiḃneas níos fearr.
A's beiḋ sé saraoiḃinn do na h-aingliḃ ġeoḃad-sa,
Nuair a ṫaḋailfeaḋ siad cloṫra Innis na Naoṁ,
Ó Naoṁ Padruiċ ma ṫaḃairfe siad sigle no cóṁarṫa
Ní ḃéiṫ aon ċúis gearran aco geallaim 'nn a ṫaoḃ
VII
A leinḃ, níor ġaḃ d'aon anam le sgiaṫanain air
Á ḃeiṫ ċuiḃruiġṫe in aon ċúige ċó beag air biṫ,
Tiomċioll Ulla 'gus Laiġion, Múḋṁa 'gus Connaċt,
Raċfaḋ sí aon uair níos luaiġṫe na 'n ġaoiṫ.
'Nois taḋail-si Corcuiġ ' nait do rugaḋ do ṡagairt-si,
Ċiḋfiḋ tú gan aṁrus inn aco aṫruġaḋ mór,
Áċ, biḋeaḋ ḟios agut air aon níġ gaċ oíḋċ' is ead'ṫra;
Áṁuil ins na mbliaḋanta ċuaiġ ṫart ní'l aṫarruġ¬
'ḋ 'san m-brogue.
VIII
A ṁuire ṁaṫair, fóir anois me m'uair déiġionaċ;
'S a ṡagairt arúin, cuir do laiṁ air mo ċeann;
Á ṡagairt sar-naoṁṫa is sagart dúinn go léir ṫú,
'S flacfad mar aiṫriġe an ṁéid a duḃairt leat.
Ó duḃruiġis anois liom go raċfad tre Éire,
'S gur beag an oilean ar Innis na Naoṁ,
Ní leigfid orm do na h-aingiliḃ ag dul liom air aon
[ċor,
Gur raiḃ imrios d-taoḃ cúntaeṫi 'dir Éireannuiġ
riaṁ.
Éamon ua Caoiṁ.
WILL YOU SOUL PASS THROUGH IRELAND.
(The first three stanzas of the following beauti¬
ful poem were written a number of years ago by a
bright poet named Denis O’Sullivan. The others
which form a dialogue between the priest and the
old woman, who is dying, are full of harmless wit,
and are in no way intended to be profane or disre¬
spectful to the holy ministry of the Priesthood ;
on the contrary, they contain a moral that will be
perceived by the thoughtful reader,)
Edmond O'Keeffe.
Oh, soggarth aroon ! sure I know life is fleeting ;
Soon, soon in the strange earth my poor bones
will lie,
I have said my last prayer, and received my last
blessing,
And if the Lord's willing I am ready to die.
But, soggarth aroon ! can I ever again see
The valleys and hills of my dear native land?
When my soul takes its flight from this world of
sorrow,
Will my soul pass through old Ireland to join
the blest band ?
Oh, soggarth aroon, sure I know that in Heaven
The loved ones are waiting and watching for me
And the Lord knows how anxious I am to be with
them,
In those realms of joy mid souls pure and free
Yet, soggarth I pray, ere you leave me forever,
Relieve the last doubt of a poor dying soul,
Whose hope next to God, is to know that when
leaving,
It will pass through old Ireland on the way to
its goal.
Oh, soggarth aroon ! I have through all changes
The thrice blessed shamrock to lay o’er my clay;
And, oh, it has 'minded me often and often,
Of that bright smiling valley so far, far away ;
Then tell me, I pray you, will I ever again see,
The place where it grew on my own native sod?
When my body lies cold in the land of the stranger
Will my soul pass through Erin on its way to its
God?
Arrah, bless you, my child, sure l thought it was
heaven
You wanted to go to the moment you died ;
And such is the place on the ticket I'm giving,
