AN GAODHAL.
107
BRIGHDÍN PHÁDRUICH
mac ríogh?
Ní 'l bárún treun no árd-fhlath
Do dhearchfadh Brighdín Phádruich,
Nach d-tiobradh seach a's grádh dhí
Thar mhnáibh dheasa an t-saoghail :
A súile is gláise dealradh,
Ná 'n drúachd' air mhaidin shamhraidh;
Is ciuin, breágh, deas é a gáire,
'Sí is áillne air bith méinn.
Chá 'r bh' iongnadh fear a fhághail
Bheith claoidhte seal a n-grádh léi,
Trádh chidhim an fhaoileán áluinn,
Go scanruigheann sí mé;
'Sa brollaighe cailce tarraingthe
Mar sgríobhfaidhe a b-prionnda Pháris
'Sa píob mar ala air lán mhuir,
'S í bhásuigheann gach aen.
Do 'n Radh-Árd tinn má théidheann tú
Ag dearcadh mnaoi na meur lag,
Brighdín dheas na n-oal chrobh,
Ní baoghal duitse an bás :
,S í an mhúinte mhaiseach, mhaordha,
Na g-craobh-fholt mh-búclach m-peurlach,
Go dlúth ag teachd le céile,
'S aig claonadh ann a m-bárr.
'S milse blas a béil tair
Ná mil ag filleadh as céir bheach,
A righ na feart gur eulaigh
An sgéimh léi thar mhnáibh :
A ríoghan dheas a gheurshlad,
Le 'd ghnaoidh, le 'd ghean gach éin fhear,
Gur samhail duitse reult maidne,
Aig éirighidh gách lá.
Ó chruthughadh an domhain gho d-tí seo,
Níor shiúbhal an talamh naomhta
A samhail súd dho mnaoi air bhith,
Ann áillne ,s a g-cáil;
Tá lasadh glan na g-caoír chon
'Na leachaibh geala, míne,
A's baladh cúmhra na tíme
Air phóigín mo ghrádh.
Mo chreach gan mé 's mo stuaire
Le na chéile aig gluaiseacht,
Faoi thoim, faoi choillte a's cuantaibh,
'S gan ar d-tuairisg le fághail :
B' fheárr liom ná ór na ríoghachta
Go m-beidhinn-se léithe n-aoinfeacht,
Ann uaigneas seal ós ísiol
'S ní thréigfinn í go bráth.
BRIDGET FERGUS.
(Translation.)
What Chief of Erin’s isle, with coldness could
regard,
When wandering o'er our western shore, the
flower of Rahard?
Her eyes so blue
Like glistening glue
On summer rose-buds seen,
Her smile so bright
Her heart so light
Her majesty of mein.
What wonder Erin's sons should be spell-bound
in her gaze,
For when I chance to catch a glance I startle in
amaze.
A swanlike grace
Her neck displays
Her eye what witchery tells,
Her budding breast
But half confest
Like living marble swells.
Should sickness weigh your frame, or sorrow
cloud your mirth,
Once look upon this lovely one, this paradise on
earth.
Her winning air,
Her tender care
Will put e'en death to flight,
For through her eyes
Beam witcheries,
Her Angel soul 's more bright,
Her lips more sweet than honey, a pouting fresh-
ness warms,
While all must own that beauty's throne is cent-
red in her charms:
Though thousands prove
The force of love
Deep cherished in her sight,
A morning star
She shines afar
On all with equal light.
Since the birthday of creation this sacred earth
ne'er bore,
A heavenly mind so fairly shrined as her whom I
adore,
Just like the rose
The blush that glows
O'er all her kindling cheeks;
The dewy thyme
In all its prime
Seems breathing where she speaks
Oh that my fair and I, were in some lonely place,
Whose woods and groves might hide our loves
and none our wanderings trace,
That bliss untold
Beyond the gold
Of nations would I prize
For ever there
Her love to share
And triumph in her eyes.
