AN GAOḊAL.
281
Mar an ṁaidin ḟuagras lá ;
Rúindiaṁar facas ṫríd gaċ ceo
Le 'r ḃreaṫuiġ faiġiḋ leus síor-ḃeo.
4
Tógaiḋ suas go h-árd ḃur n-guṫ
'Gus seiníġiḋe amaċ ó ċroíḋe ḃur ndán,
'Ġus biḋeaḋ ḃur g-coisir aṁuil sruṫ
Le mórán ceolta binne lán;
Taḃairt air ḃár na d-tuilteaḋ cruinn
Bríġ sean-rannta beannuiġe binn.
5
Rannta ṫig anuas ó ṫrá
Na maidne 'r cumaḋ talaṁ 's neaṁ,
'S raḃ cinn ar slioċd faoi aṁgar 's sgáṫ
Mar ġeil do ġlór na peist, go leaṁ;
Nuair do ṫug solás Dé d'a ċroiḋe,
Sgeiṫ leus na doiġe os cionn a ṡlíġe.
6
Ó ḃroinn na neulta doiṁin', duḃ',
Ċuir air ḃreiṫ-síor an Ḃriaṫair sgáṫ,
D' ḟoilsiġ 'maċ go trócaireaċ, guṫ,
A ḃreiṫ ó ṁnaoi ann am le fáṫ,
Go n-geaḃfaḋ air a náṁuid teann
Buaiḋ, 's go m-brisfeaḋ fós a ċeann.
7
Saṁuil an tuim do ċonairc Maois,
Trá ḃí pobal Eaḃra crom
Faoi 'n g cuing ġeur a d-ḟágaiḋ baois
An droċ-riġ teannta orṫu trom;
D' ḟan an tom gan dóṫuġaḋ ó'n teas,
Cí naċ n-deaċaiḋ an lasair as.
8
An maġ faoi ḟál gaċ am 's gaċ trá,
Gan air ḃeiṫ cantuġaḋ beul no guṫ,
Na rósa aonṁair' uil' faoi ḃláṫ,
'S faoi glasa dúinte suas gaċ sruṫ —
Saṁuil iad seo na h-Óiġe saoir'
Naċ raḃ a riaṁ le peacaḋ daor,
9
O'n am tá ársa 'g-cian le linn
Caiṫréim ġlórṁar máṫair Dé,
Ḃeiṫ 'g-cill n-Eṗeis 'ga gaḃail go binn,
Ní 'r cluiseaḋ aoiḃneas ceoil mar é,
Ó ċloig ċill Ṗeadair teaċt do ḃi,
'S go flaiṫeas tógḃáil suas gaċ croiḋe.
10
Oiġe! a d' ṫainic neaċ de ḋroing
Na n-aingeal 'nuas ó Ḋia na sluaġ,
Fuagraḋ tuirling' faoi do ḃroinn
D'a ṁac aon-ġeinte fós ċo luaṫ
'Gus ḃéarfá toil : is ṫar na mná
Do ḃí tú beannuiġṫe ann gaċ trá.
11
'N uair ḃeiḋeas ar laeṫe caite, fann,
N-déis ar n-aistir ṫríd an t-slíġe,
'Gus beulaiġe buarṫa, treasna gleann
Na ndeor; fáġ ḋúinn a Ṁáṫair sgíṫ,
As uċt do Ṁic, ó ġáġ a's baoġal,
'Gus flaiṫeas Dé le saoġal na saoġal.
Translation.
Lines written in Rome in December
1854, on the occasion of the dogmatic
promulgation of the doctrine of the Im¬
maculate Conception of the Blessed
Virgin.
1
A pilgrim from the sainted Isle,
On which amidst the darkest storm,
The “Ocean's Star" ne’er ceased to smile
And guard its ancient faith from harm;
'Twould ill become no voice to raise
To sound the sinless Virgin's praise.
2
Nor need our harp be here unstrung
On willows hanging, from sad fears
That should it breathe our native tongue
Its tones should melt us into tears ;
On Tiber's banks no tongue is strange,
Rome's faith and tongue embrace earth's
range.
3
Let's hail through distant time the star
Whose feeble yet auspicious ray
Announced our recent feast afar,
Like morning kindling into day
Of which the heaven taught seers of old
Have in prophetic glimpses told.
4
Let each one raise his choral voice
Gushing from the heart's deep well,
And whilst in concord we rejoice,
Let that concord be the swell
Of mingling streams, that bear along
The precious faith of sacred song.
5
That sacred song whose spring we trace
Back to the dawning of the world
When, ere the parents of our race
Were from their blissful Eden hurled,
The Almighty Father cheer'd the gloom
