430
AN GAODHAL
And the one was grave and the other was gay :—
O Men of Erin !
For the one was the son of minstrelsy,
And spoke with the spirits of air ;
But the other, he was a soldier free,
And the heart of a soldier bare.
In the Springtime of life sat two maids by the way;
O Maids of Erin !
And the one was grave and the other was gay ;—
O Maids of Erin:
For the one was the child of sanctity,
And her thoughts were over the skies;
But the other, she laughed joyously
With her heart in her diamond eyes.
CHORUS, —
Over the mountain, over the meadow,
Over the hill and over the dale,
Merrily hunting midnight shadow
Out from its cave and sheltering vale,
Over the moorland swiftly fleeting,
Brushing the dew from the golden corn,
Drying night's tears with a Seraph greeting
Cometh the Rosy Morn.
Come, O come in your glory !
Come from your bower, O blushing maid !
Thro' the mist dim and hoary
Shine like a virgin in her bridal veil array'd!
For the lark cleaveth up thro' the cloud to thee,
While looking out from their leafy shroud to
thee,
Cry the Merle and the Mavis aloud to thee
With the song of the heart without sin,
So may the soul of the Poet sing to thee,
While we content us that cannot wing to thee,
But, as a mirror afar, to fling to thee
Back, thy beauty reflected within.
EOCHAIDH — BEOTHACH.
Beothach.
Hó! a cheoltóir! Sé do bheatha!
Eochaidh.
Beatha shíoruidhe dhuit, a bhráthair!
Beothach.
Ca bh-fuil tú dul cho moch?
Eochaidh.
Téidhim chum na cathrach.
Beothach.
Mise fós, in aondhachd leat.
Eochaidh.
Tagann tú ó 'n d-tuaisceart?
Beothach.
Tigim; agus tusa, a cheoltóir?
Eochaidh.
Tigim-se ó'n dheisceart in ar rug'dh mé ;
Insin chois na trágh' do fuaireas mo
laoigh
'San áit in a m-buaileann, air feadh an
lae,
Na tonnta in uaimh uaigneach a choidh'e.
Do shaoileas é bheith mar chroidhe ceolmhar
an bháird
Nuair a phreabann sé le naoimh-teine
tír-ghrádh;
Mar phian nuair ní féidir le ealadhan árd
Mian na h-anma go fíor a rádh.
Beothach.
D' fhás mise ó chlannaibh na tuaigh' ;
Ameasg treud a bhí tosach mo bheatha,
Ach, mar óglach, do throid mé go cruaidh,
'S air son Éireann do thriall mé chum
catha.
Is linn dóchais ar g-croidhtheadh iomlán,
'Gus ní féidir le síothcháin a ndaor'dh;
Bhí siad cumtha do shaoirseacht amháin,
'Gus ar neart ach le iadsan do shaor'dh.
Beothach.
Tar! do chruit os cionn do ghualan caith,
Béidh mé dhuit mar fó.
Eochaidh,
Tú a's do lann
Deunfad nearthmhar 'san gleo.
Eochaidh — Beothach.
Brosduigh! brosduigh,
An Bárd 'gus an Fó!
Beothach
Mar sin budh mhaith linn bheith gach lá!
Eochaidh.
Ag troid lámh a's lámh,
Air son Éireann go deo!
Beothach.
O! tá mé leat in do chúis go bráth.
Eochaidh — Beothach.
Brosduidh ! brosduigh!
An Bárd 'gus an Fó.
O! seadh a chómhluighe fhíor',
A m-bíth no m-bás go síor,
A g-ceolaireacht no meír,
Ní thréigfimid ar d-tír.
Ach, taobh le taobh go deo
A síothcháin no a n-gleo,
Béidhmid le chéile beo
In oidh'e 'gus ló.
Eochaidh.
Ach b' fhéidir le caomh-ghrádh
Do chroidhe chur faoi chrádh?
Beothach.
Le Clú no osna Mná,
