AN GAOḊAL
323
An Ċearc & an Tiġearna Talṁan.
(The Hen and the Landlord.)
By P. McDermott, Wheeling, W. Va.
Is beag le ráḋ 'n ċearc i d-tír ar
biṫ le breaṫnuġ' uirre, aċ i n-Éirinn 's
éigin di do ḃeiṫ amuiċ moċ & mall ag
cuartuġ, & ag sgríoḃaḋ na criaḋ, pioc¬
aḋ péist & cnuiṁeóg & ceapaḋ cuileóg
d'a beaṫuġ' féin ag deunaḋ uḃ le ḋíol,
taḃairt gaċ h-uile ċongnaṁ do 'n tala¬
ṁuiḋ ḃoiċt leis an g-cíos d' íoc leis an
tiġearna, ċum go d-tiuḃarfaḋ 'n duine
uasal cead ḋó a ḃeiṫ bliaḋain eile, air
a laiġead beo ionn a ṫír féin, saoṫ¬
ruġ' paisde talṁan garḃ 'measg na g¬
carraig suas air ṁullaċ an ċnuic; &
mar seo, tógḃáil bean & clann, nó mar
déarṫá, ag congḃáil corp & anam i g¬
ceann a ċéile. Agus anuair i ḃiḋeas
sí féin [an ċearc] raṁar díoltar í, &
anuair i baintear an ceann di & gleus¬
tar a corp os cionn cláir, is ró unaṁ¬
uil gur b'é 'n tiġearna & a luċt lean¬
ṁana [an soiriġeam, na peelers & an
báille] a ṫigeas & a ċuireas a g-cúl le
balla go b-piocaḋ siad an ḟeoil d'a
cnáṁa. Is dona an ċríoċ a ṫigeas ar
an g-circ, & is dibliġe 'n t-aḋlacaḋ do
fuair sí air son an méid oibre cneas¬
ta do rinne sí cá ḟaid a's ḃí sí beo.
Aċt dá m-beiḋeaḋ dlíġeaḋ ceart i
Éirinn mar atá i d-tír ar biṫ eile, a¬
nois & arís, ṡuiḋfeaḋ fir oibre fiúġ¬
antaċ ṫiomċoll an ċláir a m-beiḋeaḋ
'n ċearc gleustaḋ air, béarfaḋ siad
buiḋeaċas do Ḋia faoi 'n suipeur
maiṫ do rinne sí. Agus déarfaḋ fear
an tiġe, "Is iomḋa niḋ gan ainm gan air¬
eaṁ do ċruṫuiḋ Dia le sólás & suḃáilce
taḃairt go ḋaoiniḃ boċta 'n t-saoiġil
seo dá m-b'ḟéidir leo é ċongḃáil ḋóiḃ
féin. Agus is cinnte gur b'in cineál
cainte naċ g-cuireann trioblóid ṁór
air an g-ceud-drong a ṫugas droċ-ḃail
air an g-circ 'sna laeṫiḃ déiġeanaiġe so.
Aċ orm-sa ní'l aon iongnaṁ, óir an
te iṫeas beaṫa ṁaiṫ gan t-saoṫruġ'
ní mian leis oiread do ḋeunaḋ 's é al¬
túġ'. Agus is mar sin 'tá 'n buna
daoineaḋ i n-Éirinn a ḃ-fuil seilḃ na
talṁan acu.
IRELAND FOOLED AGAIN,
Written for The Gael, by
P A DOUGHER.
Oh Erin's sons and daughters brave you're fooled
again to-day,
Your Home Rule is a fizzle and a failure, I may
say;
And the chains that's bound you ever so long
these seven hundred years,
Are forged again with another link in the British
House of Peers.
Once Columille wrote his will and his prophecies
made known
That Ireland’s liberator would be from another
shore ;
We were then confused and still amused and oft
recite the stanz'
Go mbeith Eire saor gus air bhur mian gan buille
scein no claidheamh.
Have Irishmen come down so low to think or un¬
derstand
That the tyrants of creation would lend a helping
hand ;
The mockers of all justice, and persecuting band,
Would give you a Moses to restore your promised
land?
Oh no, you are deluded, though your arguments
are strong,
Your oppressors, without conscience, they glory
in their wrong ;
But keep your hold and be consoled, your cause
is from above,
For King of kings and Lord of lords chastiseth
whom he love.
My dear and loving brothers I fear you are going
astray,
In parleying with your enemy to help you in a
fray;
For the like of that is never been known that his¬
tory can show clear,
Where a battle's won without a gun, without a
sword or spear.
You must resort to elements and guidings you left
off,
And modes of civilization your enemy wont scoff ;
For parliament's a mockery the world does record
With that worthless institution called the British
House of Lords.
A word of warning now my friends, before it is
too late,
There is one thing still you do possess that is both
grand and great ;
Your enemy is after that, then all to them is won,
That is Erin's pride in days gone by, your loving
Celtic tongue.
Now beware of Saxon’s flattering gibes his schools
are a decoy
The last of Ireland's glory, her language, to des¬
troy;
Do not coincide with his nasty pride or you're
certain to bemoan,
But when he rattlees off his English tongue you
answer with your own.
Greenfield, NY, Sept. 26 '93.
