AN GAOḊAL.
59
SEAN-ĊAINT.
Gaċ rae mar a' treas,
Mar a' cúig 'gus mar a' seaċt
'S mar gaċ lá dá ḃ-fuil le ṫeaċt.
Ní ṫagann na paidreaċa
'S na h-agraċa le ċéile.
Uan duḃ a ḟeiceál air d-tús
Searaċ 's a ċúl leat,
Má ġoireann a' ċuaċ a d-taoḃ do ċúil,
Ní éireoġaiḋ an ḃliaḋain sin leat.
Go mairiḋ tú é, 's go g-caiṫiḋ tú é
'S ceud ceann eile n-a ḋiaġ.
Ċo ḟad 's ṁairfeas sé fónfaiḋ sé,
'S 'nuair a ḃeiḋeas sé caiṫte,
Ceann eile ċur ann áit.
Ní'l gráḋ dá ṁeud
Naċ d-tagann fuaḋ dá réir.
Ḋá ḟad' í an oiḋċe tagann an lá.
Ḃí sealaḋ fear a teaċt a ḃaile as
Sasana uair 's casaḋ bean ḋóiḃ air
a m-bóṫar. Ḃeannuiġ sí ḋóiḃ, agus ar
sise, "A ḃ-facaiḋ siḃ m' ḟear-sa a
teaċt a ḃaile as Sasana ḋóiḃ?" "Mai-
se cá ḃ'ḟios dúinn-ne a ḃ-facaiḋ no naċ
ḃ-facaiḋ. Cia 'n sórt fear a ḃí ann?"
"Fearrín beag meirgeaċ, duḃ,
Ṡaoilṫeá go raḃ sé caoċ 's ní raḃ."
J. J. LYONS.
BEAN DUḂ AN ĠLEANNA.
[Le E. Breaṫnaċ.]
A ḃ-facaiḋ tú nó an g-cualaiḋ tú
An stuaire dob' áille gnaoi,
Á ngleannta duḃa, 's mé ann uaignios,
Gan suaiṁnios do ló na d'oiḋċ',
Béilín caoin an t-suan-roisg
Do ḃuair mé 's do ḃreoḋaiġ mo ċroiḋe
Mo beannaċt féin go buan léi,
Go d-ti an g-cuan úd b'é áit a m-biḋ !
Atá sé sgríoḃṫa a b-prionnta
Do ċom seang 's do ṁala caol,
Is do ḃéilín tanuiḋ faoi sin
Na saoilfinn do ḋeunfaḋ breug;
Do ċroḃ as gile míne
Ionna an síoda 's ná clúṁ na n-eun,
As buarṫa cráiḋte ḃím-se
Nuair smaoinim air sgarúinn léi!
An uair ḋearcas í, do ṫéiġ mé,
Le geur ṡearc d'a gnaoi 's d'a snó
A miona cíoċa glégeal,
A déad deas, 'sa dlaoiḋ-ḟolt óir;
Ba gile a dreaċ ná Déirdre
Ċuir laoċraiḋ na Miḋe air feoḋ,
'S na Blánad ṁín na g-claon-rosg,
Le ar traoċaḋ na mílte treon.
WHEN WE WERE YOUNG.
BY THOMAS CALLAHAN.
Long, long ago, in the days of my childhood,
I plucked the wild flower that bloomed on the
hill —
And wove the green boughs, with a harp in the
center,
And carried them home to my young brother
Will.
I watched the crystal streams as they gushed from
the mountains,
And run with their course through valley and
lea —
I fondly admired the works of creation
As I watched those pure waters on their march
to the sea.
In woods of green pine and oak of past ages,
Where sages related the deeds they had done —
The concerts of birds on a bright summer's morn¬
ing,
When truly translated will tell of the glories to
come.
On the rude, mossy rocks where the bees they
were humming
And storing their honey against winter's bleak
blast —
How well did they know that the red and white
roses,
Were types of brave heroes that fought in the
past.
Our readers will remember that friend Callahan
is no mean poet in his native language either, for
his muse in it has graced the columns of the Gael.
We have other pieces from Mr. Callahan which
may be interesting by and by.]
Editor McGarry, Portland (Oregon) Sentinel,
How dare you advise Catholics to have a “back-
bone" in this Anglican country ? A gristle will do
IRISH IMITATION OF CHRIST.
(SECOND EDITION).
With Life of Translator, Father O’Sullivan, the
celebrated Irish scholar. A treat for Irish learn¬
ers and scholars. The best Irish book published
Pure and easy Irish.
“Those who wish to learn correct Irish, cannot
do so more effectually than by learning every word
and phrase in the Irish Imitation. — Dublin Nation
Price 1s. 6d.; handsomely bound 2s. 6d.; By
post 3d. extra.
Mulcahy — Patrick St., Cork, Ireland.
Air — Petrie's A.I.M. No. 1138.
Ní hé a rinne t-aḃrán. D'aistriġ sé
é. tá ceatraṁ fágta amaċ.
Vide Irish Popular Songs. p. 46.
Vide Conlaċ Glas an Ḟóġṁair.
