782
AN GAODHAL.
BRIAN BORU'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.
With Translation by WILLIAM RUSSELL.
Air — “St. Patrick's Day.”
A Chlanna na h-Éireonn! a laochradh is fearra
Do throid riamh le namhaid, a m-bearnainn dainséara;
'S do chruinnigh air ínntin bhur d-tíre do sgaradh,
Go tapadh ó chuing an strainséara ;
Gan suím ann bhur saoghal, ná h-éimighe an baoghal —
Ach preabaighe san ngleo 'na bh-fuil glóire le fághail;
Agus ollamh chúm éagadh air son Inse-Fáil —
Bhúr leathan-chloidhimh sgiobaidhe amach as a d-truaillibh,
'S le h-uail-chatha bhinibeach tugaidhe an buadh libh;
'S beidh laibhréil na saoirse go buan air bhur ngruadhnaibh,
Do bhara bhur ngaisge, le Brian Bórúmha!
Le mórtas do'n ghradam, bhúr sínnsior do fuair,
Go minic air mhachairíbh áir, ghraídhe,
Sul ar lagaigh miochaingean díl-inis na m-buadh,
'S fá chumas na daoirse a d'fhág í —
Biodh bhur m-bratacha óir, a's uaithne sróill,
Shuas leathanta lonnrach, grínn ann aer;
Agus dilis do'n ghaisge a g-cathaibh nár staon —
Anois saoraighe o aicme chlaon Dhannar na toire,
Bhur n-Eidin, tonn-chriosta, fuair craobh na h-onóire,
No tuitighe le laochas, air ruadh-rae na glóire,
Air son firt agus Éirionn, le Brian Bórúmha!
(Translation.)
Ye sons of old Erin! — the bravest that ever
Have grappled with foes, in the red van of danger;
And who, from our country, but yearn to sever
The grasp of the merciless stranger —
Now, lavish of life advance to the strife
Where glory’s the guerdon your hope that inspires;
And ready to die for the home of your sires —
Your keen, trusty death-dealing broad swords unsheathe,
While fiercely, the war-cry of vengeance ye breathe,
And liberty’s laurels your brows shall inwreathe,
To blazon your valor with Brian Borul
Inspired by the triumphs your forefathers won
On many a dread field of slaughter,
Ere discord, their dear isle of fame had undone,
And under oppression had brought her :—
Let your standards of green, and gold be seen,
Unrolled, with glittering sheen in air;
And true to the record for valor ye bear —
Now free from those vile Danish legions before you
The sweet, cherished, wave-girdled Eden that bore you,
Or perish ye brave! on the red field of glory,
For virtue and Erin with Brian Boru!
