Ta bród mor
orm saoi an
AN GAOḊAL.
331
TRÍ INNS FIL.
Fonn — Aiḃlín Crócar.
I
Tríḋ Innis fáil,
Aig rinceaḋ 'n dáil
Trá ġluais Gráḋ 'gus Gaisge,
'Gus síġ 'n ġrinn ġéir
Siuḃal leo 'sa ḃ-feur
'Sceiṫ gaeṫe ó n-a ṫaisge;
Air feaḋ na slíġe
Tig feur trí-ġlaoiġe
Faoi ḋrúċta dealra falcuiġṫe,
'Gus é ċo glas
Le smáróg deas,
Tríḋ scáṫán cristil calcuiġṫe.
An t-seamróg, tá glas síor-ḃuan an t-
seamróg!
De ḋuille óg sgaiṫ,
Aig file 's flaiṫ,
Fás Éire aṁáin an t-seamróg!
II
Aig Gaisge, aig ráḋ,
"'S dam tá faoi ḃláṫ,
Na seoide maidne craoḃaṁuil',"
"Ní h-aṁla tá,"
Do ḟreagair Gráḋ,
"Le m' ḟearan-s' an dil' aoiḃeaṁuil."
Aċt ḋearc 'sa ḃ-feur
Trí ḋlaoiġ 'n t-síġ ġeur,
'Gus ġáir air feaḋ na spéire;
"Na sgoiltiḋ an bláṫ
Ta 'r ṫriúr mar scáṫ,
Gráḋ, Gaisge 's Greann na h-Éire!"
Ó an t-seamróg, tá glas, síor-ḃuan, an
t-seamróg!
De ḋuilleog sgaiṫ,
Aig file 's flaiṫ,
Fás Éire, aṁáin an t-seamróg!
III
Ċo dílis fíor,
Biḋeaḋ teann go síor
An ċuing an lá úd 'ċeangail,
'S air eite an ġaiṫ,
Na tuiteaḋ daṫ,
An domḃlais no a ṡaṁail!
Glanaḋ go h-eug,
An gráḋ dris ḃreug,
Ó 'n ngort tá faoi 'n a ṁaorsaċt,
'S ná tóigeaḋ go deo,
A ḃrat sa ngleo,
Gaisge 'n aġaiḋ na saorsaċt' ;
Ó an t-seamróg, tá glas, síor-ḃuan, an
t-seamróg!
De ḋuilleog sgaiṫ,
Aig file 's flaiṫ,
Fas Éire, aṁáin an t-seamróg!
OH! THE SHAMROCK !
AIR — “Alley Croker."
Through Erin's Isle,
To sport awhile,
As Love and Valor wander'd,
With Wit, the sprite,
Whose quiver bright
A thousand arrows squander'd ;
Where’er they pass,
A triple grass
Shoots up with dew-drops streaming,
As softly green
As emerald seen
Thro' purest crystal gleaming.
Oh! the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
The chosen leaf
Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin's native Shamrock !
Says Valor — “See,
They spring for me,
Those leafy gems of morning!”
Says Love “No, no,
For me they grow,
My fragrant path adorning."
But Wit perceives
The triple leaves,
And cries, “Oh ! do not sever
A type that blends
Three god-like friends,
Love, Valor, Wit, forever!”
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock !
The chosen leaf
Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin's native Shamrock!
So firmly fond
May last the bond
They wove that morn together;
And ne’er may fall
One drop of gall
On Wit's celestial feather !
May Love, as twine
His flowers divine,
Of thorny falsehood weed 'em !
May Valor ne'er
His standard rear
Against the cause of Freedom !
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock !
The Chosen leaf
Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin's native Shamrock !
