AN GAOḊAL.
335
The Following Poem Explains Itself.
Air — “The Sprig of Shillelagh."
Dar m'ḟallaing, a ṫiġearna, gur mór í do ċáil,
'Teaċd análl, air son Sacsan, ó ċríoċ Innse-Fáil,
Led' ċoraċán gleusta 's gan uaiṫne 'nna ḃárr. —
Do ċroiḋe lán de ḋóṫċus go d-tógfaḋ do sgóṫ,
Ċum ríoġan na coróine, an corn gan stop —
Ár g-cupáinín gleoite, as a n-ólamuíd deoċ,
A's ár m-brataċ reultġlórṁar go buacaċ air ṗost,
'S gan a ríġ ná a nimpir é sgaoile air lár,
Tá aguinne máirneulaiġ, 's ní ḋeunamuid maoiḋeaṁ,
Ná léigfiḋ ár g-cosda do ċló le coigríḃ,
Ná ár g-caiṫréim do ḟuadaċ déis cóṁraċ na m-bád.
Smuain air Aimreul O'Baire 's an taoiseaċ Paul Jones,
Ċuir fóiréigean caṫa agus díṫ 'nna n-aiṁḋeoin,
Air ċaḃlaċ na Breataine a's stad air a fuaim;
A's ní ġníḋmíd d'a ḃarra san blomas ná geoin,
Gíḋ go m-beaċdaíġim gur féid linn a ḋéanaḋ má's gáḋ.
So do ṡláinte, a ṫiġearna — ní leun liom a ráḋ,
Ṫug do ṁeisneaċ ar Éirinn — 's go n-déantar mé ċráḋ',
Go m-ba ċóir duit í ṫeanntúġaḋ a ḃ-fad ná'n ḃainríoġan
Anois, tugaim cóṁairle go deo ḋuit a's déin —
Maiṫeas a's treoireaċd dod' ḋúṫaiġ ḃoċd féin —
Ní dóiġ go ḃ-fuil buaḋ 'gat 'san tír so le fáġail;
Buḋ ċuḃaiḋ duit díonúġaḋ do ċríoċ Innse-Fáil,
A beannaċt ba sóḋ ḋuit 'san ló ḋuit ḃeiṫ críon.
Tomás D. de Norraḋ.
Translation.
By gosh, Lord Dunraven, your fame must be full
To come hither from Ireland to fight for John Bull,
With your yacht rigged so neatly, tho ne’er a bit green ;
Your heart full of notions in hopes that your scup
Would to gracious Victoria, take over the cup,
Which the yankees have held and from which we do sup,
When the stars and the stripes are so gloriously up
That we fear neither anarchy, monarch nor queen.
You'll find we have sailors (although we don't boast),
Who won't let any foreigners bother our coast,
Nor run off with our laurels when conquered, I ween :
Think of commodore Barry and lusty Paul Jones,
Who fought on the ocean defending their homes;
They whipped old Britannia upon the high sea —
We can do it again (if a cause there should be) —
Take my word, Mr. Quinn, as foes we're not mean.
Then, a health, Lord Dunraven, you are a brave man,
But your courage is Irish and may I be d—ned,
But I think you should serve it instead of the queen ;
