AN GAODHAL.
753
DÍOTHCHURTHA.
Le L. M. BÁLMHAIN.
Fonn — "Coillte Blárna."
Lán de sgothaibh
A's de bhláthaibh
Bhí bán-lámha Éireann óig.
Fáinnidhe d' ór bhuidhe
Air a meuraibh,
Seoid soilléire ann a gruaig —
Chonnairc tíorán dian an grianán,
Bhris sé síos balla an tighe,
Rug sé air an maighdean sgiamhaigh,
Theilg sé a g-carcair doimhin í.
B' úr é an raithneach,
Bog an caonach,
'S an biolar fáinneach 'timchioll a tighe —
Treuda móra,
Arbhar órdha,
Mil a's toradh maith chum bidh.
Acht anois, a g-carcair uaigneach,
Tá sí a n-dorchadas 's a b-péin;
D' iompuigh a seóid a slabhraidhibh iarainn,
'Gus a blátha a g-cochan chríon.
Tá árus ríoghamhail,
Onóir shaoitheamhail,
'Gus fíon croidheamhail le tabhairt dí,
Ma's mian léithe
Droich-bheatha 'chaitheamh,
Ag tuitim a g-cathuighthibh an t-Sasanaigh,
Acht ní thréigeann sí an fhírinne,
Chualaidh an saoghal a h-osnadh mór,
Chualaidh Neamh a guth 's a caoine —
Tá sí ag eugadh os ar g-comhair.
(Translation.)
EVICTED.
Air — “Groves of Blarney."
Once 'mid blossoms
Bright embosomed.
In a rose, embowered grove,
Jewels wearing
Her dark hair in.
Dwelt the Erin of our love.
Envious on this beauteous treasure
Fell a furious tyrant's eye;
From her plundered home he dragged
[her
To a dungeon deep to die.
Once 'mid grasses,
Shamrocks, mosses,
Ferns, and cresses smiled her bower;
Cornfields sunny,
Orchards many,
Milk and honey filled her store.
But she's banished from her treasures
;
Changed are all her joys to pains
;
Changed to withered straw her gar¬
lands,
And her jewels, iron chains.
Kingly castles,
Princely vassals,
Wine and wassail she might have.
If but pliant
To the tyrant,
Her defiant love shed give,
But unyielding still she suffers ;
And the world has heard her sighs.
And her cries have rung thro' heaven!
While we gaze our Erin dies.
L M BALDWIN.
Mr. Baldwin, the author of the foregoing, did not
know a word of Irish two years ago, yet patriotic
(?) Irishmen will say that they cannot learn their
native language ! Well, when they acknowledge
to be such ninnies, we forgive them. — 'Tis hard
to put a thrush out of a bush where there is none.
AISDEAR MIC-LÉIGHIN.
II.
Mar bhíomar ag snámh amach thar Bhinn-
Eadar bhí an coinfheasgar ag tuitim, &
d'fhan mé am shuidhe air sheas aig breath¬
nughadh air an g-cuan áluinn úd, le bád¬
aibh beaga faoi sheol annso agus annsúd
aig teacht isteach le cóir tar éis an lá
chathadh air fairge. Bhí cuid acu locht¬
uighthe le h-iasg, acht an chuid bo mhó lán
de dhaoinibh aig deunadh aeir. Anois
táid ag triall air na bailtibh beaga tháll
air bhruach an chuain, mar a bh-fuil na
soluis ins na fuineogaibh aig éirghe níos
líonmhaire gach uile mhóimeud do réir
mar thuiteann an dorchadas.
I g-ceann sgáthamh, thug mé faoi ndeara
beirt fhear lem' ais, agus iad aig aigh¬
neas le chéile. Bo Sasanach ceann acu
agus Ciarruigheach an fear eile, agus bo
h-í ceist na Féinriaghla an cheist a bhí dhá
bhualadh amach acu. Sin í an bheirt a righ¬
