AN GAODHAL
133
mhéid sin os a b-póctha air shon teanga a
d-tíre? Is fíor é, dá n-íocóchadh an
mhéid a d' orduigh é, ní bheidheadh muid
aon phighinn os póca, agus is doigh linn go
n-íocfaidh ; acht "Fághann na ba bás cho
fad' as bhidheas an feur a fás."
Ní dhéaróchamuid dadaidh timchioll an
rud seo acht mheas muid go mb' fhéidir
gur sgríobh an Saoi Ruiséal chum daoine
uaisle eile; agus is maith linn an mhuin-
tir a tá tógtha suas go fírinneach san
obair thírghrádhamhalach seo a gchur air a
n-aireachas. Deunfamuid ar n-dithchioll,
agus iarrfaidh muid cungnamh ar d-tír-
eacha d' an Ghaodhal.
NEW YORK, AUG. 24, 1882.
Editor of the Gaodhal. — Dear Sir.
I noticed the following little song in the UNIT-
ED IRISHMAN of Aug. 19, and I thought to put
it in an Irish coat. If you think it worth putting in
the GAEL you are welcome to it-
Yours truly,
Thomas D. Norris.
ABHRÁN NA h-ÉIRENN.
Focla le I. Ua Ruaighín.
Fonn — An "Cailín d' fhág me mo dhiaigh,
Atharruighthe leis an taoiseach tír-
ghrádhach, Caiptín Tomás Mhic
Dáibhí de Norraidh, ó Phílo-Celtigh
an Éamhraidh Nuadh.
(ERIN'S SONG).
Words by J. Ryan.
Translated by that patriotic chieftain, Captain
Thomas D. Norris, of the New York Philo-
Celtic Society, from THE UNITED IRISH-
MAN; the organ of the Advanced Nation-
alists.
Ó! d'fhas na laethe go faidh na m-bliadhan
A's na bliadhanta go h-aoisibh liath-ghlas,
Ó phóg na deortha air d-tús mo ghné,
A's ó chaill mo ghlóire a soillseachd,
Acht fós trí eagla a's trí thrioblóid,
Nuair bhuail donas mé a's diachair,
Do mhair astigh am' chroidhe, gan tómhas,
Dóthchus riamh nár thréigh mé.
Gídheadh brúighte tinn le h-olc na n-diabhal
Go h-eadóthchus anois seolta,
Gídheadh riaghluigh dorchachdh os ar g-cionn,
A's gan splanc ó neamh d'ár d-teorachd,
An mhuiníghin bhí beo am ucht gan sgíth,
A's do chosain mé na h-aonar,
Chum gur sona bheidhinn 'san am atá ag
teachd,
Faoi mhórán meas a's treunas.
Gídheadh brúighte síos faoi ualach bróin,
Do sheas mé a g-cómhnuidhe fógrach,
Díreach, dána, an aghaidh mo námhaid,
A's ní mar dhéarcóir suarach;
Go síoruidhe do éiligh mé mo cheart,
Air mágh a troid 'sa seanaid,
A's gídh gur claoidheadh mé anns an gcath,
Gheobhad é nó an bás an aonad !
Am anam braithim é go fíor!
Labharthar é mór-dtimchioll,
Gur geárr go m-beidh an báire liom,
'San t-aintighearna, do ruag mé, caillt
An Fleasg arís air mo cheann mar bhí,
Ann aimsir mhaith na saoirse,
A's ní bheidh air tír ná an n-ifrion shíos,
Neart mé do chur a n-daoirse!
(Translation.)
Ah! days have lengthened unto years,
And years to ages hoary,
Since first my face was kissed by tears,
And shadowed was my glory ;
But yet, throughout that fearful time,
When every ill assailed me,
There lived within my heart sublime
A hope that never failed me!
Though sore oppressed by demons vile,
To grim despair nigh driven ;
Though darkness reigned supreme the while,
And no light beamed from Heaven,
The hope that lived within my breast,
And was my sole defender —
That in the future I'd be blest
With more than former splendor!
Though crushed beneath a weight of woe,
l’ve always stood defiant,
Erect, before the haughty foe,
And not a base suppliant;
Aye, boldly I have claimed my right,
In battle-field and senate,
And though defeated in the fight,
I'Il die — or yet I'll win it !
I feel it in my very soul!
'Tis whispered all around me !
That soon again I'll reach the goal
Where first the despot found me !
That soon again I'Il don the wreath
Which freedom erst entwined me,
And that on earth or hell beneath;
No power again can bind me!
