AN GAODHAL.
283
AIR LÉIGHEADH DÁIN DO CUMADH
LEIS AN g-CRAOIBHÍN AOIBHINN.
Ná caoin, a bhinn-cheoltóir, ná caoin
cho geur, deorach
Na láethe do bhí in ar n-oileán fad
ó;
Ná caoin iad, "a taoiseacha treun¬
mhara, treorach,"
Ná caoin iad, na gníomhartha d'im¬
thigh mar cheo.
Ní'l maith in do chaoineadh, gidh is ná¬
dúrtha 'dheunadh,
Acht tiormuigh do shúile ó dheoraibh
go bráth;
No ma's "dubh, is ma's domhain mar
an oidhche do bhrón-sa,"
Cuimhnigh go d-tigeann as gach oidh¬
che an lá.
Gidh gur iomad d'a páisdibh do chaill
ar n-dil-mhathair,
Le bhás tá níos measa 'na báthadh
go mór;
A's gidh go bh-fuil a clann scaptha a
b-fad ó n-a lathair,
Ta fágtha fós laochra maith', treun¬
mhar', go leor,
Agus iadsan tá scaptha 'nn gach áit
air an g-cruinne,
Ma's fada táid 'nois ó n-a d-tír
thar an t-sáil :
Tá mian in gach croidhe, agus neart
aig gach duinne,
Le buille do thabhairt air shon Éir¬
eann go fóill.
'Nuair tiocfaidh an lá sin ní dóigh
liom go m-beidh tú
Faoi 'bhrón, no faoi phian, no do
dheora aig sil';
'Gus trá feicfir do thír, a's gach cha¬
thair faoi shaoirse,
As seilbh ar námhaid, ní budh mhaith
leat an chill
Oir measaim go m-beidh tú aig gleus¬
adh do chruite,
A's aig sinm le saor-ghuth do abh¬
rán go h-árd;
'Gus ní bhéidh tú aig caoineadh, acht
aig moladh na laetheadh
Do bhí againn in uair sin, a Phrion¬
sa na m-Bárd!
Miss Downey spoke this popular piece
with excellent effect at the N. Y. Philo-Celtic
reunion on Oct. 16th.
Morning On The Irish Coast.
Mo Anam do dhia, but there it is,
The dawn on the hills of Ireland,
God's angels lifting the night's black veil.
From the fair sweet face of my sireland,
O Ireland isn't grand you look,
Like a bride in her rich adorning
And with all the pent up love of my heart,
I bid you the top of the morning.
Thus one short hour pays lavishly back
For many a year of mourning,
I'd almost venture another flight,
There's so much joy in returning —
Watching out for the hallowed shore
All other attractions scorning,
O Ireland don't you hear me shout,
I bid you the top o, the morning.
Ho ho! upon Cleena's shelving strand.
The surges are grandly beating,
And Kerry is pushing her headlands out
To give us the kindly greeting.
Into the shore the sea birds fly
On pinions that know no drooping
And out from the cliffs with welcomes charged
A million of waves come trooping.
O, kindly, generous Irish land,
So real and fair and loving,
No wonder the wandering Celt should think
And dream of you in his roving,
The alien home may have gems and gold —
Shadows may never have gloomed it
But the heart will sigh for the absent land,
Where the love-light first illumed it
And dosen't old Cove look charming there,
Watching the waves' in motion,
Leaning her back up against the hills,
And the tips of her toes in the ocean?
I wonder I dont hear Shandon’s bells,
Ah! mayby their chiming's over
For it's many a year since I began
The life of a western rover.
For thirty summers, a stor mo chroidhe
Those hills I now feast my eyes on,
Ne'er met my vision, save when thou rose
O'er Memory's dim horizon.
E'en so 'twas grand and fair they seemed
In the landscape spread before me,
But dreams are dreams and my eyes would ope
To see Texas' sky still o'er me.
Ah! often upon the Texan plains,
When the day and the chase were over,
My thoughts would fly o'er the weary wave,
And around this coast-line hover.
And a prayer would rise, that some future day
All dangers and doubtings scorning,
I'd help to win for my native land
The light of young liberty's morning.
How fuller and truer the shore-line shows
Was ever a scene so splendid ?
I feel the breath of the Munster breeze,
Thank God that my exile's ended.
Old scenes, old songs, old friends again,
The vale and the cot I was born in,
Oh, Ireland, up from my heart of hearts,
I bid you the top o' the mornin'.
