AN GAODHAL.
277
Never till the latest day
Shall the memory pass away
Of the gallant lives thus given for our land;
But on the cause must go,
Amidst joy, or weal, or woe,
Till we’ve made our isle a nation free and grand.
"God save Ireland,” say we proudly;
"God save Ireland,” say we all,
"Whether on the scaffold high," &c.
Translation.
DHIA SAOR ÉIRE.
Go hárd air chrann na croiche
Sheas triúr na g-croidhthe treuna,
Le mailís aintigh'rnuis lota in a mbhláth,
Ach le fearamhlacht a g-cinneadh,
Chuaidhid aghaidh air aghaidh na choinne,
'S le croidhthe treuna chum a ndán do
chuaidhid.
"Dhia saor Éire!" deir na laochra;
"Dhia saor Éire!" deir gach aon!
"Má eugfamoid 'san ár
No air an g-croich go h-árd,
Is cuma óir air shon Éire fhághmar bás.'
Gidh le námhaid teanta 'ngabhail,
D' éirigh a spiorad suas gan truaill,
Óir smuain air chroidhthibh do ghrádh' iad
soir is siar;
De na milliún fíor is treun
Thar an fhairge tháll i g-cian,
'S na croidhthe in Éirinn naomhtha choidhche
daor.
"Dhia saor Éire!" deirid go bród'mhuil,
"Dhia saor Éire!" deir gach aon;
Má eugfamoid san ár." &c.
Ghrapaid an stíre corach suas,
Is ghuidhid fóirint ó Dhia 'nuas,
Is le teud-mharbhtha Shacsan ortha teann,
Ngar do chois na croiche — (crann),
Phógeadar mar bhráithre ionmhuinn
Fíor do theac, do chreideamh, 's do
shaoirse choídhch'.
"Dhia saor Éire!" ghuidhid go glórach;
"Dhia saor Éire!" deir gach aon:
Ma eugfamoid 'san ár." &c.
A choidhche agus go deo
Congbhóchuighear an chuimhne beo,
Air na croidhthe treunmhar' tabhrtha chum
a d-tír;
Ach rachfaidh an chúis air aghaidh,
Lár sógh, no seun, no caoidh,
Go mbéidh ar n-oilean 'na naisiún saor
a's mór.
"Dhia saor Éire!" deirid go bhródmhuil,
"Dhia saor Éire!" deirid gach aon;
Ma eugfamoid 'san ar," &c.
Chum INGHÍN Ui SÚILIOBHÁIN,
A chúilfhion cháidh mhánla
Na g-cíamh t-slím m-buidhe,
Ó Dhún na m-Barc abhainn,
Mar a riarthaoi an fhíon,
Is tú mo grádh a g-cáileamh,
Agus fiafruighim díot,
An rún leat pairt pháiste
Ó Chiarruidhe an ghrinn?
A leinbh ba thais do shlad
Na soilse ó 'n n-gréin,
Na tabhair do shearc d'aon neach,
Acht damh-sa féin;
Sinn a g-ceangal go glan
A m-bheartaib sinsear Gaodhal;
'S ní tanaidhe an brat
A g-ceart ma filltear é,
Mo ghrádh-sa do chúilfhionn
Múinte, mánla, shéimh;
Mo ghrádh-sa do shiúbhal,
Nach brúghann go bráth an feur ;
Mo ghrádh-sa do chúl
Ta búchlach, fainneach, réidh,
Is mo dhian-ghradh tú
Mar shúil tú fhaghail dom fhéin.
Translated for the GAEL, by MICHAEL CAVANAGH.
To O’Sullivan's Daughter.
Oh, sunny haired beauty,
Whose long tresses shine,
From White-sailed-Bear-Haven —
Where flowed the rich wine!
'Tis you're my beloved one,
Oh, will you write
Your fate with a youngster
From "Kerry the Bright?”
For brighter your smile is
Than sunbeam or sea,
Give not your affection
To any but me.
When wed like our fathers
I'll shield you from harm,
(“Thin blankets when doubled
Become the more warm.”)
