366
AN GAODHAL.
BHÁN-CHNOIC ÉIREANN O!
Le Donnchadh (Ruadh) Mhic Con-Mara.
Fonn — Uileachán Dubh O!
Beir beannacht ó m' chroidhe go tír na h
Éireann,
Bán chnoic Éireann O!
'S chum a mairionn de shíolrach Ir 's Éi¬
bhear,
Air bhan chnoic Éireann O!
An áit úd 'nar bh' aoibhinn bínn-ghuth éan,
Mar shámh-chruit chaoin ag caoiné Gaodhal,
Is é mo chás a bheith míle míle i g-céin,
Ó bhán chnoic Éireann O!
Bídheann bárr bhog slím ar chaoin-chnoic
Éireann,
Ban-chnoic Éireann O!
'S as fearr 'na 'n tír-si díth gach sléibhe
ann,
Bán chnoic Éireann O!
Do b' árd a coillte 's bu díreach, réig,
'S a m-bláth mar aol air mhaoilinn géig,
Atá grádh ag mo chroidhe a m'inntinn féin
Do bhan chnoic Éireann O!
Ata gasradh líonmhar a d-tír na h-Éir¬
eann,
Bán-chnoic Éireann O!
'S fear-oin ghroidhe na claoidhfeach ceud¬
ta,
Ar bhan-chnoic Éireann O!
M'fhath-tuirse croidhé! 's mo chuimhne
sgéal,
Iad ag Gall phoic síos fa ghréidhim, mo
leun,
'S a m-bailte da roinn fa chíos go daor,
Bán-chnoic Éireann O!
Is fairsing 's as mór iad Cruachaibh na
h-Éireann,
Bán-chnoic Éireann O!
A g-cuid meala 'gus uachdair ag gluais¬
eacht na slaoda,
Ar bhan-chnoic Éireann O!
Rachad-sa ar cuairt, no is luath mo shaogh¬
al,
Do 'n talamh mín suairc is dual do
Ghaodhal,
'S go m' fearr liom 'na duais, da uais¬
leacht é, bheith,
Ar bhan-chnoic Éireann O!
Sgaipeann an drúcht ar gheamhar 's fheur
ann,
Ar bhan-chnoic Éireann O!
'S fasaidh abhladh chúbhartha ar gheuga ann
Ar bhan-chnoic Éireann O!
Bídheann biolar 's samhadh ann i n-gleann¬
taibh ceódhaigh,
'S na srothaibh san t-samhradh ag labhairt
uim neoin,
Uisge na Súire ag brúcht na slóghaidh,
Cois ban-chnoic Éireann O!
Is osguilteach, fáilteach, an áit sin Éire
Ban-chnoic Éireann O!
Bídheann "Toradh na Slainte" a m-barr
na déise,
A m-ban-chnoic Éireann O!
Ba bhinne liom na méaraibh ar théadaibh
ceoil,
Seinnim 's géimreadh a laogh, 's a m-bó,
Taithniomh na gréine orra aosda 's óg,
Ar bán-chnoic Éireann O!
(Translation.)
THE FAIR HILLS OF EIRE O!
BY DONAGH [THE RED ] Mac CON-MARA.
AIR — Uaileacan Dubh O.
Take a blessing from my heart to the land of my
birth,
And the fair Hills of Eire, O,
And to all that yet survive of Eibher's tribe on
earth,
On the fair Hills of Eire O,
In that land so delightful the wild thrush’s lay
Seems to pour a lament forth for Eire's decay —
Alas, alas, why pine I a thousand miles away
From the fair Hills of Eire O.
The soil is rich and soft — the air is mild and bland
Of the fair Hills of Eire O,
Her barest rock is greener to Me than this rude
land —
O, the fair Hills of Eire O,
Her woods are tall and straight, grove rising over
grove ;
Trees flourish in her glens below, and on her
heights above,
O, in heart and soul, I shall ever, ever love
The fair Hills of Eire, O,
A noble tribe, moreover, are the now hapless Gael
On the fair Hills of Eire, O,
A tribe in Battle's hour unused to shrink or fail,
On the fair Hills of Eire, O,
For this is my lament in bitterness outpoured,
To see them slain or scattered by the Saxon sword
