AN GAODHAL
307
THE CELTIC TONGUE.
Ay, build ye up the Celtic tongue above O'Curry's
grave;
Speed the good work, ye patriot souls wha long
your land to save,
Who long to light the flame again on Freedom's
altar dead,
Who long to call the glories back from hapless
Erin fled,
Who long to gem her sadden'd brow with queenly
wreath again,
And raise a warrior people up, a NATION in her
train.
Speed then the work; be scorn our lot, our ancient
pride is flown,
If midst the nations on the earth we stand in shame
alone.
Throughout the lovely land of vines, where dwells
the lively Gaul,
They speak the tongue of Charlemagne in cot, and
bower, and hall.
Where Spain extends her suu-loved realms, from
prince to muleteer,
The language of the mighty Cid still strikes the
listening ear.
Their olden tongue still speak the tribes the Dan¬
ube's banks along;
The German loves the rushing speech that swells
in Schiller's song;
By Tiber's stream are uttered yet, as in the gold¬
en days,
The music tones of Dante's lyre, of Petrarch's lov¬
ing lays.
And we, who own that tongue of tongues that saints
and sages spoke,
Have bowed our very minds beneath the Saxon's
galling yoke,
And clothe the thoughts that make our hearts with
Celtic ardor glow
In words that chill the lips they touch, like flakes
of winter snow.
The Saxon tongue ! Why, we should hate this
speech we love so well!
The Saxon tongue of Saxon guile its fraudful ac¬
cents tell.
Oft to our trusting Irish ears it syllabled foul lies —
Methinks such tongue the Serpent spoke to Eve in
Paradise.
Ah ! cease that alien speech — too long its hollow
notes have rung,
And pour ye forth from Celtic lips the rushing CEL¬
TIC TONGUE.
II.
The Celtic Tongue ! the Celtic Tongu ! why
should its voice be still,
When all its magic tones with old and golden glo¬
ries thrill —
When, like an angel bard, it sings departed warri¬
ors' might —
When it was heard in kingly halls where throng'd
the brave and bright —
When oft its glowing tales of war made dauntless
hearts beat high —
When oft its tales of hapless love drew tears from
beauty's eye ?
Grand tongue of heroes ! how its tones upon the
gale uprose,
When great Cuchullin's Red Brauch Knights rush¬
ed down upon their foes;
And how its accents fired the brave to struggle for
their rights,
When from thy lips they burst in flames, Con of
Hundred Fights !
Or when the breeze its war-cries bore across that
gory plain,
Where royal Brian cheered his hosts to battle with
the Dane.
Oh, who may fire our sluggish hearts like them to
dare and do?
When shall we see thy like again, O hero soul'd
Boru?
Sweet tongue of bards how how swelled its tones in
lofty flights of song,
When white-robed minstrels deftly swept the
sounding chords along!
When Oisin touch'd the trembling strings to hymn
the Fenian name,
When thrill'd thy lyre, fond Fionbell, with gallant
Osgar's fame.
Alike 'twould tell of ladye-love and chief of prince¬
ly line —
Fair Aileen now the poets sung, and now the Ger¬
aldine.
'Twas music's self — that barded tongue, till iron
days began,
Then swell'd its swan-like strains, and died with
thee, O'Carolan!
In dulcet tones the wide world o'er through gifted
bards have sung,
Yet sweeter sounds thy minstrely, soul-soothing
CELTIC TONGUE.
III.
The Celtic Tongue ! the Celtic Tongue ! no more
in bower and hall
Where Rank holds sway or Beauty reigns, its li¬
quid accents fall.
Far from the courts of Pride and Power, within the
lowly cot
It finds a home — the outlaw's tongue — the poor
despise it not.
But still upon the mountain heath, or in the moon-
lit vale,
In that sweet speech the shepherd sings, the lover
breathes his tale,
And oft times in the rustic church the Soggarth
knows its might
