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AN GAODHAL
an méid a bheidheadh aige taréis cúraim
a thighe do chur a g-cóir.
O, nách mór an truagh, air son na
Gaedhilge, nách bh-fuil a leithid sin le h-
éirigh! acht fan go fóill; Cia ag a bhfuil
fios? Agus anois, a Shaoi, tabharfad
suaimhneas duit, ag guidhe anns an am
ceudna go m-biaidh an Gaodhal gan stad,
air son na Gaedhilge, níos Gaodhalaighe,
agus tú féin seunmhar agus fadsaoghal¬
ach ós a chionn. —
"Seanghualainn."
[Tá súil againn go n-éireochaidh leis
an Saoi Mac Bháird má dheunfaidh sé
maith do chúis na Gaedhilge. Tá sé 'na
fear óg sgíomhach, gheanamhuil, ghnaoidhea¬
mhuil, lán de fhonn is de ghreann, agus
mar sin, ní'l fios againn cia 'n fáth nach
n-éireochadh leis ; ach, mar aon le go
leor d'a thíreachaibh, tá sé ro chúmhal, ro
chaomhamhuil, F. G.]
AN TÍR-GHRÁDHUIGHTHEOIR.
(By L. M. BALDWIN.)
Do chonnairc sé
A thír, do bhí
Faoi 'n námhaid daoi, gan trócaire,
'Gus corpa dearg'
Air mhagh 's air charraig
Le maduighibh fearguigh stróice;
'Gus sé a mhóid,
Gan sgith do throid
Go rabh a námhaid air a chróchar,
Go raibh gach aon
'Na luidhe go faon,
'Gus sínte claon, gan cogar.
Do chonnairc sé,
Ann Éirinn, an chré
Gan teach, gan spré, 'nn a díthreadh,
'Gus fear, 'gus páisde,
'Gus naoidheanán gan baisdeadh
'Measg loisgthe a g-cisde, gan saoradh;
'Gus sé a rádh,
An námhaid do chrádh',
Do chur a bhláth faoi náire,
Do losgadh a chathair,
Do chreachadh a bhothar,
'S le sgaoileadh urthar d'á bhuaidhreadh.
Do chonnairc sé,
A g-céin, 'sa g-cré,
Uaimh gaisgidheach Éireann 'nn a g-cod¬
[ladh.
'Gus clann na nGaodhal,
Air feadh an t-saoghail,
Gan eudach 'gus a m-beula falamh ;
A's dubhairt go cóir —
'S beidh Neamh a fóir' —
"Sgriosfad go mór a shealbh,
Creachfad a chum
'Gus a ainm go lom,
Go m-béidh a cheann crom air an talamh."
The Patriot.
[Translation.]
He saw his land,
By spoiler's hand,
A bare and plundered waste;
He saw where blood
Had wet the sod
And corpses fed the beast;
And in his youth
He took an oath
That ne’er henceforth he'd rest
Till every foe
In death lay low,
With every woe redressed.
He saw the soil
Of Erin's isle
To desert wild returning,
Where babes and men
Had murdered been
And homes defenseless burning ;
And so, in sooth,
He took an oath,
He vowed in youth's fresh morning,
That he'd oppose
The heinous cause
Of Ireland's woes and scorning.
He saw the grave
Of Ireland's brave
Beyond the waves' wild element;
Her children faint
From dearth and want,
Vile food and scant habiliment;
And so he said —
A vow he made —
And heaven will aid fulfillment —
"I'll rend his frame
Until his name
Be scoffing, shame, revilement!"
