﻿626
AN GAODHAL.
A VOICE FROM DUBLIN.
Mr. Patrick O'Brien, of Cuff Street, Dublin,
writes, — The following song is founded on a tradi¬
tion prevalent among the people in the vicinity
that an ancient city, with fine land adjoining it, is
seen every seventh year, and sometimes oftener, by
the fishermen and others, off the Blackrock coast
near Dundalk. The old people used to tell many
wild stories about the inhabitants of this enchant¬
ed city, and assert that some of their offspring
still live at Blackrock.
Maidin chiuin dhom cois bruach na trágha
Budh mhilis bláth beag ann air gach craoibh;
Budh bhinn liom ceileabhar na n-eun a n-
áirde
Is dham budh sáimh iad 'san m-ball lem'
thaoib.
Trom-fhuaim na d-tonn n-geal, bhídh 'n
eala air snámh ann,
'S an chuach in áirde air chrann na suidhe,
Loinnir neamha a teacht o 'n t-sáile,
'S na spéiridhe a gáire le fáinne 'n lae!
Bhí 'n bheach na cluainnaire ag deunadh
ruaircais,
As iasga uaisle 'na m-buidhean air láimh;
Caoirthe 's uain ann go meanmach luaim¬
neach,
Súd fuaim na luath-bharc ag teacht o 'n
t-snámh.
Laithre ag fuacas fa charrgibh uaisle,
As macnaidhe chruadhga faoi lan a sgeith,
An drúcht ag snughadh le ceathaibh nuadh-
mhealla,
Is dair n-doigh gur subháilceach dealradh
an lae.
Bhád maighdne mara cois tuinne, luath-
gháirca,
Bhí brata uaibhreacha dul le gaoith,
Sluaighte armáil an chara 'g suadh'teacht
A bhearadh fuascailt do Chlannaibh Gao¬
dhal :
Stuic na mear g-caith ag sin go h-uaibh¬
reach
Is an ghuaraidh uasal ag gealla spreidh
Do chach a chosno'dh a g-cath an uair sin,
'S na'r dham budh luathgháireach le deal¬
radh an lae.
Thríd coilltibh coll dlútha bhadh a n-gluais¬
eacht,
Mar raibh abhla snuadh-dheasa air gach
taoibh;
Measa milse air bhárr na maol-dhraes'
A's subha cumhra ann air gach craoibh.
Shíleas féin gur b'é párrthas naomhtha é,
Is go rabh fuascailt do Chlannaibh Gao¬
dhal,
Ach mo mhíle mairg! air mo fheuchainn
suas uaim,
Ní fhacas aon-chruth ach dealradh an lae.
A beautiful, though not a literal, translation of
the above poem is given in page 357 of “Poems by
James Clarence Mangan," published by Haverty,
New York, 1883. I believe the Irish portion was
never published and I took it from one of the ma¬
nuscripts in the library of the Royal Irish Acade¬
my.
P. O'BRIEN.
THERE IS A HOPE FOR IRELAND STILL.
There is a hope for Ireland still.
There is a way for every will;
There is a saying of Columkille —
Let skeptics sneer :
There is a God that shall fulfil —
The time is near.
A God that knows the hearts of all,
Of rich and poor, of great and small,
Behold the cup of Myrrh and gall,
By whom 'twas given
And treasures up his wrath to fall —
A while in Heaven.
Will shortly deal his chast'ning hand,
And purge that soil our native land,
Of Saxon foe, and slavish brand;
Too long there borne.
Restore our rights we now demand;
We shall return —
From what we know and see and hear,
The time no doubt is drawing near,
Perhaps it may be in one year,
No matter when;
We ready are, will volunteer,
We're Irish-men.
We have now some of nerve and mind,
To lead us on and all our kind,
To face that foe we left behind,
And them repay —
That ruthless clan that did us grind,
With despot sway.
Resolve, prepare, let all be right,
Your powder dry, your sabres bright,
You know not when, the day or night,
The trumpet sounds;
Exiles, arise, charge on, and fight,
Nor spare these hounds.
Pay down the debt burst off the chain,
That sank you deep in woe and pain,
Let ev'ry stroke their hearts' blood drain,
As yours of yore,
Let mountain hill and marsh and plane
Drink up their gore.
Departed shades of Irish birth,
Who lie beneath your native earth,
Restore to us your manly worth,
Our souls inspire.
To chase our foe from hall and hearth,
With sword and fire:
