88
AN GAOḊAL
ins an mballa, & níor ḟeud siad a ḋul
níos fuide. Ċuir an Caiptín a láṁ in
o ṗóca ; do ṫarraing eoċair ṁór ṫrom
(Le ḃeiṫ leanta)
PHILO-CELTS.
The Brooklyn Philo-Celtic Society
had its annual reunion and ball in
Turn Hall, Atlantic Av. near Hoyt
street, on April 13th. It was the lar¬
gest gathering the Society ever com¬
manded. After the exercises commen¬
ced, fully one third of the audience
had to stand. Mr P J Boylan, of the
New York Society, presided, and be¬
fore introducing him, the President
said, —
A Ḋeirḃṡiúireaċa agus a Ḋearḃráiṫre
Is gnóṫaċ leis an g-Cumann Gaoḋ¬
ailge seo, ar ócáidiḃ mar seo, beagán
focal do ráḋ i d-teangain ar d-tíre —
teangain na h-Éireann — ag fáiltiuġaḋ
ar g-cáidre noċ atá d'ar móruġaḋ le
na láṫair inseo anoċt; mar sin, in
ainm an Ċumainn, cuirim
Ceud míle fáilte róṁaiḃ!
On introducing Mr Boylan as char¬
man the president paid a just trib¬
ute to his services in the Gaelic cause.
Mr. Boylan, having taken the chair,
addressed the audience with his usual
eloquence, and announced as the first
number on the programme, Androm¬
ache's Address to Hector, which Mr M
J Logan would read. Here are the o¬
pening lines. —
A ḋuine ḋána faraoir tá ar tí,
Do ḃasca féin gan imníḋ fa do ṁnaoi
'Gus fa do leanḃ, ciḋ gur dóiḃ is baoġal
A ḃeiṫ gan coimirc, tréigṫe ar 'n saoġal
Is ort-sa 'ṁáin tá 'n náṁaid uile braṫ
Is tusa 'ṁáin is mian leo síneaḋ gcaṫ
Má's leat i ṫuitim 's truaġ, mar sin,
gan mé,
Roiṁ ṫusa imṫeaċt, sínte síos faoi 'n
gcré.
Má ḃíḋim do ḋiaiġ mo ḃaintreaċ, béiḋ
mo ḃiḋ,
Mar ḃí ó ṫús, faoi ḋuḃrón 'gus faoi
ċaoi,
Gan aṫair, máṫair, bráṫair, le mo ló,
Maoluġaḋ mo leaṫtrom, no roinnt
liom sóġ.
Song,
A Grave in Sweet Kildare.
Prof. Ed. O'Mahony.
Song
(Irish) The Minstrel Boy, Moore
Miss M A Condon.
Song,
The Irish Republic,
Miss Agnes Leonard.
Song, Kathleen Mavourneen, Crouch,
Mr J Ardma Donahy.
Recitation, The Language of our Race
Mr B J Martin.
Song, The Meeting of the Waters.
Ní ḃfuil ins an gcruinne aon ċumar
no gleann,
Mar an lag a ḃfuil co-ṡruṫ na dís aḃ¬
ann ann;
Is luaiṫe ḃéiḋeas eulaiġṫe uaim m' ar¬
rann , 'smo ḃríġ,
Ná ċríonfas an gleann glas úd úr as
mo ċroiḋe.
Ní ṡé 'n t-aṁarc breáġ, aoiḃinn ḃí sga¬
rṫa ar gach taoḃ,
Ní ṡé loinnir an ċriostáil, no úr-ḃláṫ
na g-craoḃ,
Ní ṡé cogar na sruṫa mar eug-ċeol
mná síġe,
Aċ rud éigin níos dílse tá i n-doíṁn¬
eaċt an ċroiḋe:
Siad mo ċairde do ċeangail mo ċum¬
ann 'smo ċlaon,
Do scap ar gaċ niḋ ann, sgéiṁ ṡásta
na mian;
Óir ní'l aon niḋ d'a áille naċ meud¬
uiġeann a ḃláṫ,
D'a ḟeicsint ṫré ṡúiliḃ air a mbíḋeann
againn gráḋ.
A ġleann aoiḃinn caṫ-aḃna, buḋ suaiṁ¬
neaċ mo ṡuan,
Faoi ḟasgaḋ do ċáḃáin le mo ċara
fíor-ḃuan,
'N áit a m-béiḋmuid ó na síontaiḃ
