814
AN GAODHAL.
AN CRUISGÍN LÁN.
(A Temperance Song,)
By WILLIAM RUSSELL.
Written in phonetic Gaelic as an offset
to Craoibhín Aoibhinn's recent poem in
favor of Alcohol.
A Shaoithe Gaodhal! seo dluthaidhe le'm
thaobh asteach 'n bhur d-trupaidhe,
Agus éistig liom go subhach, sioch, sámh;
Go leighead díbh ranna ciuine, a nGaodh¬
ailge mhilis, bhúch, bhinn,
Óir threithibh feill an chrúisgín láin,
láin, láin, —
Óir threithibh feill an chrúisgín láin.
Ní'l spreallaire na súthnaídhe, na léigh¬
iob a g-clár ar n-duthaidhe,
Ar méinn leis bheith gan chlu, gan aird,
Na caitheann seal na sprionnach, a diu¬
gadh gloinídhe úra,
A síbiníbh an chrúisgín láin, láin, láin,-
A síbiníbh an chrúisgín láin.
'Nuair fheicim fear oir chúl cinn, na
laighe a n-drib an mhúnloig,
Sé deirim leis, a bhrutaig, gan chail!
Preab feasta oir do ghlúinibh, 's do 'n
mheasarracht ghrínn úmhlaig,
'S do mhallacht tabhair do'n chrúisgín
lán, lán, lán, —
'S do mhallacht tabhair do'n chrúisgín
(lán.
Mo beannacht-sa do'n chúilionn an pos¬
adh trath do dhiultaigheann,
'S na teigheann a g-ceangal dlúith le
leannan,
Do chaithfeadh a thoilliuntas le beathuisge
's le lionntaibh,
'S é damanta 'g an g-crúisgín lán,
lán, lán, —
'S é damanta 'g an g-crúisgín lán.
A Shagarta ar g-cúigidhe! cruadh-cheann
na faolaon brughaigidhe,
Do ghoideann uaibh bhur n-uain 's bhur
mionnáin,
Agus cuirig cogadh-cungcais oir Bhaccus
claon, an crúnca,
No go m-bristear libh a chrúisgín lán,
lán, lán —
No go m-bristear libh a chrúisgín lán.
O! fuaith mo chroidhe do 'n chrúisín
Nach taithniomh liom mar mhuirnin, —
O! fuaith mo chroidhe dhon chrúisgín lán,
Do thug an Deamhan d'ár n-ionnsaidhe
Go h-Inis Fáil na b-prionnsaidhe; ghrain,
ghrain,
'S go roibh a sgrogall cumhang faoi
ghrain,
'S go roibh a sgrogall cumhang faoi
ghrain.
HIBERNIA!
Written for the GAEL.
Hibernia still my own sweet genial isle,
O’er thy green fields may peace and plenty smile —
Land of my birth, how often ’midst thy bowers
Have I in rapture passed the golden hour.
My sole delight was in thy groves to muse,
Ere sparkling Pheabus had absorbed the dews,
When lark and linnet opened in full tune,
Sensitive of sweet May and fragrant June,
Italy’s bowers with her cannot compare,
The winds are softer and fields more fair —
The flowers in richer hues their leaves unfold,
The shamrock green and radiant marrigold —
The trees droop richly o'er each silken scene
Of downey lawns all clad in richer green,
So rich so bright that Venus then in truth
Could love to seek, and woo her rosy youth,
How sweetly rises morning's rosy light —
And Oh! how softly falls the veil of night,
O’er hill and dale, o’er valley and o’er bower,
O’er rock and cliff, o’er crag and giant tower —
And softer still the moon’s bright sparkling glance
Dances in beauty over the broad expanse,
Of murmuring waters and mountains bold,
Made great by glorious chivalry of old.
Thy claim is beautiful, and thou art young,
And half thy glorious praises are unsung;
The edge of Time can never wreck thy form,
Long hast thou stood the cruel raging storm,
Of fiends who madly did pollute thy shore,
And steeped thy lovely tresses all in gore —
And who doth yet thy children seek to wound,
Or trample them in serfdom to the ground.
Like the fair lilly that in the Antumn dies,
Or softly sleeps till Spring's returning skies —
Sends the reviving ray through its cold bed,
And bids it lift its long-secluded head :
Then like the lilly sleeping thou shalt be
Till Freedom's spring shall smile again on thee,
Thus like the lilly thou aside shalt fling,
Thy chains of shralldom and behold thy spring
The God of gods, who doth in glory reign,
Who sees and nows all deeds and thoughts of
men,
Will guard his chosen, lead their steps aright,
And check the ruthless Pharaoh in his might —
He will redeem our land from woe and strife
Give her new impulse and eternal life,
The Great, the Good, the All-high, All-Powerful
One
Will see thy children free — thy enemies undone.
JAMES McDONNELL.
