326
AN GAODHAL
Síos-amach 'n ait a bh-fasan an seamróg go breagha,
Inns na cúntaethi Dairigh, Feirmheanadh 'gus Cabhan,
Fanad go nglaoghfar me chum soibhneas níos fearr.
A's beidh sé saraoibhinn do na h-ainglibh gheobhad-sa,
Nuair a thadhailfeadh siad clothra Innis na Naomh,
Ó Naomh Padruich ma thabhairfe siad sigle no cómhartha
Ní bhéith aon chúis gearran aco geallaim 'nn a thaobh
VII
A leinbh, níor ghabh d'aon anam le sgiathanain air
Á bheith chuibhruighthe in aon chúige chó beag air bith,
Tiomchioll Ulla 'gus Laighion, Múdhmha 'gus Connacht,
Rachfadh sí aon uair níos luaighthe na 'n ghaoith.
'Nois tadhail-si Corcuigh ' nait do rugadh do shagairt-si,
Chidhfidh tú gan amhrus inn aco athrughadh mór,
Ách, bidheadh fhios agut air aon nígh gach oídhch' is ead'thra;
Ámhuil ins na mbliadhanta chuaigh thart ní'l atharrugh¬
'dh 'san m-brogue.
VIII
A mhuire mhathair, fóir anois me m'uair déighionach;
'S a shagairt arúin, cuir do laimh air mo cheann;
Á shagairt sar-naomhtha is sagart dúinn go léir thú,
'S flacfad mar aithrighe an mhéid a dubhairt leat.
Ó dubhruighis anois liom go rachfad tre Éire,
'S gur beag an oilean ar Innis na Naomh,
Ní leigfid orm do na h-aingilibh ag dul liom air aon
[chor,
Gur raibh imrios d-taobh cúntaethi 'dir Éireannuigh
riamh.
Éamon ua Caoimh.
WILL YOU SOUL PASS THROUGH IRELAND.
(The first three stanzas of the following beauti¬
ful poem were written a number of years ago by a
bright poet named Denis O’Sullivan. The others
which form a dialogue between the priest and the
old woman, who is dying, are full of harmless wit,
and are in no way intended to be profane or disre¬
spectful to the holy ministry of the Priesthood ;
on the contrary, they contain a moral that will be
perceived by the thoughtful reader,)
Edmond O'Keeffe.
Oh, soggarth aroon ! sure I know life is fleeting ;
Soon, soon in the strange earth my poor bones
will lie,
I have said my last prayer, and received my last
blessing,
And if the Lord's willing I am ready to die.
But, soggarth aroon ! can I ever again see
The valleys and hills of my dear native land?
When my soul takes its flight from this world of
sorrow,
Will my soul pass through old Ireland to join
the blest band ?
Oh, soggarth aroon, sure I know that in Heaven
The loved ones are waiting and watching for me
And the Lord knows how anxious I am to be with
them,
In those realms of joy mid souls pure and free
Yet, soggarth I pray, ere you leave me forever,
Relieve the last doubt of a poor dying soul,
Whose hope next to God, is to know that when
leaving,
It will pass through old Ireland on the way to
its goal.
Oh, soggarth aroon ! I have through all changes
The thrice blessed shamrock to lay o’er my clay;
And, oh, it has 'minded me often and often,
Of that bright smiling valley so far, far away ;
Then tell me, I pray you, will I ever again see,
The place where it grew on my own native sod?
When my body lies cold in the land of the stranger
Will my soul pass through Erin on its way to its
God?
Arrah, bless you, my child, sure l thought it was
heaven
You wanted to go to the moment you died ;
And such is the place on the ticket I'm giving,
