336
AN GAOḊAL.
col.
CÚL-NA-BINNE.
Se mo leun ní'l mise Mamagar agus
In mo láiṁ a ḃeiṫ duḃaċ 's peann;
Ní iarfain g' aċuiniḋe 'r riġ na ngrása
Aċ intleaċt Hómair ḃeiṫ in mo ċeann;
Sgríoḃfainn síos i n-duḃ 's i m-bán
An molaḋ áluin a ḃí air an ngleann;
'S air do ḃreaġaċta ba ṁian liom tráċt'
Aċ faraoir geur tá m' inntleaċt fann.
'Sé duḃairt fear as Aċuil liom, "Na bí
gan ċéil,
'Gul 'sa 'g eugċaoin n-diaiġ Cúlnabinn';
Ḃeárfainn bean & ḋá ċeud bó ḋuit
Agus acra móin-ḟéir n-diaiġ an ċinn;
Bád 's anaċ 's bareud i n-aoinfeaċt,
'S ḃeárfainn eudáil asteaċ do'n tuinn :
Naċ measṫá féin gur feárr 'n méid sin,
Na ḃeiṫ 'gul 'sa 'g eugċaoin n-diaiġ Cúl
nabinn'?
Dá d-tucṫá bean & ḋá ċeud bó ḋam,
Agus acra móin-ḟéir n-diaiġ an ċinn,
A ḃ-fuil go ḃáid 's g' anaiġ air ḟaid
Ċriċ Ḟoḋla,
A's saiḋḃreas Ċórsa ḟáġail 'na ċionn,
B'ḟeárr liom acra go' n ḃogaċ ṁurṫaċ,
Eidir an bóṫar & Innis-an-drian;
Cead rinc le cailíniḋe lá saoire 's
Doṁnaiġ,
Air na bóiṫriḋe úd aig Cúl-na -binn'.
Tá na coillte dlúṫ air aġaiḋ na gréine,
'San dilliúr cúṁarṫa tuitim síos;
An ċuaċ 'san ċéirseaċ a cuir le ċéile,
A seinnim ċeoil a teaċt na h-oiḋċe;
Tá daoine uaisle air uaċtair sléiḃte,
A deunaḋ pléisiúir air ċearcaiḃ fríġe,
'S tá'n briotán briongoll 'r ḃruiċ 'géiriġ
Ag fearaiḃ Éireann le fáġail gan piġinn.
Tá 'n loċ 's áilne d'a ḃ-fuil in Éirinn,
Agus na ḃáid ag éiriġe ó ṫonn go tonn;
'San te ċleaċtas é 's ċaiṫis é ṫréigsint,
A Ḋia, cia 'n t-ionga a ċroiḋe ḃeiṫ tinn?
Ma sé seo 'n cúrsa ta geallta ḋaṁsa
Ḃeiṫ in seo air ċúl ċnuic gur liaṫuiġ
mo ċeann;
Mo ṁíle slán leat, a Bun-a-dún,
'Sna coillte álunne úd Ċúl-na-binn'.
Dá m-beiḋeaḋ fios aig na buaċailliḋe
tá aig bun ċnuic Néfinn,
Tá leitir scríoḃṫa agam
vide p. 373.
see Vol.
XII. p. 4.
SWEET COOLNABIN.
I wish I was in Mamma-gara,
Or round the borders of that lovely glen ;
And I possessed of the wit of Homer,
Ink and paper and a well-made pen.
Night and morning it would be my labor
To sound its praises with my slender quill ;
There is no residence throughout this Nation,
Can in beauty equal sweet Coolnabin.
In this lovely valley there is wood and water
Dispensing their beauty to that lovely glen,
The small fish rolling and salmon trowling,
Along the borders of each purling stream ;
There is no heat here like on other mountains,
Our hills are covered with verdant hue,
The for and eagle, the plover and grouse,
In time of fowling are still in view,
There is a lake here of great admiration
Where swans are bathing on each purling rill,
And he that lived here and must forsake it ;
Who could blame him to cry his fill ?
If for me, 'twas predestinated,
In distant places some time to dwell,
Ye gods take pity on my desolation,
In lamentation behind the hills.
And he who traveled our Irish nation,
Each port and harbor doth tell to me ;
England, Scotland, have searched according,
France, and Spain, and fair Germany —
Traveled Europe in every station,
His a vocation been traveling still,
In all his ranging and serenading,
Could find none to equal sweet Coolnabin.
If my fellow play-boys at the foot of Nephin
Knew of my desolation and me far from home,
In a camp-wheeled carriage they would carry me
To my native place my life to restore
In their arms they would embrace me,
And recreate me with heart and will —
Here I'd recover from all diseases,
And bid farewell to the Sliave-Morehill.
I have a letter now penned to paper,
Signed and sealed for to send with speed,
To tell my fellow play-boys ot the foot of Nephin,
That I'll soon be deceased here unless relieved ;
I'll be placed in a dark sepulchre,
Without a female to shed a tear,
Like brave Prograner born to Celestial regions
Not well knowing where to steer.
Slave-Morehill I fain would leave you,
Where I found the neighbors both kind and free,
With hospitality they did receive me
When from my own place I was forced to flee ;
Like the salmon fry that comes by nature,
After ranging the ocean wide
It is so by me if I'd traverse this nation,
At the foot of Naphin I'd wish to die.
see
page 373.
