AN GAODHAL.
385
OIL CITY, PA. JULY, 15. '84.
To the Editor of the Gael;
Dear Sir, — In connection with
my translation of “The Last Rose of
Summer," just published in the Gael.
I omitted to state that it is an error to
accept that song as written to the air
of 'The Groves of Blarney;' which is
the same tune as that of 'Castle Hyde,"
"The Bells af Shandon" and Youghal
Harbor"; which last is but a transla¬
tion of the Gaelic song known as “Mai¬
din Domhnaig." That “The Last Rose
of Summer" cannot be sung to this
tune is plain enough to any one ac¬
quainted with the song, “The Groves
of Blarney": what the true air is, I do
not now undertake to decide, but I
think it is that of Gráine Mhaol.
I send you to-day my translation of,
"I Saw from the Beach.” of which song
versions in Irish have been recently
written by Captain Norris, and Mr. D.
O’Keeffe of New York. Archbishop
MacHale also made a translation of
this melody into the vernacular. Al¬
though these three translations were
in my possession I did not allow my¬
self to become acquainted with any of
them, lest I should be tempted to bor¬
row the terms or phraseology used by
their authors. But now that I have
completed mine, I may be allowed to
remark, in a general way, that it is ex¬
tremely difficult to translate the “Me¬
lodies” into Irish; and that no man
will successfully do it who is vastly in¬
ferior to Moore in judgement, imagin¬
ation, fancy, inventon, pathos and me¬
taphorical sublimity; besides this, he
must be thoroughly acquainted with
the spoken and written Gaelic.
Yours, &c.
W M. RUSSELL.
I SAW FROM THE BEACH.
Do dhearc me ó'n d-traigh is an mhaidin
go glégeal,
Aon-bhárc air an sáile go h-áluinn ag
téacht;
Do chas me dhon tráigh sin le fuinneadh
na gréine;
Bhí 'n barc ann le fághail, 's gan an
sáile 'na gaodhar :
Is mar sin é dán moch-gheallamhna ár m-
beatha,
'S do theitheann lán-rogharta ár sogh
d' ár n-áimhdheoin ;
Gach tonn air ár rínnceamair ceádhfra
air maidin,
Sinn fágann san bh-fuar-chuan go
h-uaigneach air neoin.
Ná trácht liom air ghlóiribh go h-aoibhinn
ag taitniomh
Air dheire ár lae, air ár g-ciúin oidh¬
che shámh —
Tabhair air n'ais dom, air n'ais dom
fiadhain-úire na-maidne,
Is fiú a deora 'sa neulta 'n neoin-
sholas is feárr.
O! cé nach bh-fáilteochadh an moiméad do
chasadh
'Nuair mhúsgail an macnas nuadh-bhith
trí na chnámha,
'Sa chroidhe mar an adhmad do chúrthaigh¬
eas san lasair —
'Thug uaig a shár-mhilseacht do laom
an fhíor-ghrádh !
CONÁN 'g GABHÁILT DO'N DÉISEACH.
Conán —
'Nis dam, a rúin 'sa charra,
Ce shiad Séamus Fada & Emon Gearra,
De chúis ná'r labhair tú air gach gearán,
Bí ó'n Sgibirín dí Cloch-an-Stocáin?
Déiseach. —
Ná'r chóir go d-tabharfá fe ndhearra,
a Chonáin,
Nach féidir iad go léir do chuir ann aon
cheacht amháin,
Feuch mar do caithfimíd éisdeacht go
ciúin le foídhne,
Le díthchéile agus le deaschaínt gach aen¬
ne.
Conán. —
An fear tú, an beán tú, no garsún?
An ó Nemh Ghorc tú, no ó Bhostún?
