832
AN GAODHAL
became doubting Thomases. You, bro¬
ther Gaels, showed these Thomases the
evidence by thrusting your Language
and literature into their “hands” — They
see, and they believe. As Irishmen,
brother Gaels, and we fail to see any
other deserving the name, the burthen
of preserving our Nationality rests of
us. This we can do without any con¬
siderable pecuniary outlay. We have
the machinery in motion and by per¬
severance and energy, we can prevail
on our likewarm countrymen to help
to keep it oiled so that in spite of fate
we shall carry our flag to ultimate vic¬
tory.
Let, then, each Gael try and get a
squad of recruits for the National army
the coming year. If this be done the
chicanery of all the enemies of Irish
Nationality will be frustrated.
Mrs McBride.
My thanks are due to Katie Molloy, of Bristol,
Pa. daughter of Edward Molloy, of Acres, co.
Donegal, for this song.
J. J. Lyons.
Fion — Bruach a tsleibhe
STÓR an FHOILT FIONN.
'S mo chairde gaoil gur thréig mé
Mar ghrádh air mhnaoi nach bh-fuair mé,
'S go n-imtheoghainn mar eun beag
Fá gheugaibh na g-crann;
Bidh seabhac na coile léithe,
'Gus sionnach ruadh Bhinneadair,
Bhidh an eilit fá na sléibhte,
Teud 'gus an chearc-fhraoigh.
Bidh chuacha, bidh troighne ann,
Bidh lonndubh' 's smólaigh,
Crataigh mhara 's faoileáin
I tréigeail ann a ngaoidh ;
Bidh an naosg ann a's an cheursach
A's faoileáin na sléibhe,
Deunadh fras 's a geurghul
Fá mé bheith gan mhnaoi.
Sliabh fionn 's Tuadh fionn
'S Connachta gur chuartuigheas,
Is gach aon bhaile cuain,
Síos go d-tigh an g-Geall;
Fri na coilte go h-uaigneach
Tig eilitidh 'na n-gluaisacht,
'S mé aig iarruigh do thuairisge,
A stóir an fhoilt fhinn.
Thre Laighinn a's Columra,
'S Sliabh Gabhra gur shiubhalas
'S d' annsacht, a rúinsearc,
Mo shúile gur dhall,
Gach is féidir damsa úlughadh
Den eug feasda a chúil fhionn,
'S a mhaighdean bharamhail, mhúinte,
Nach tú rinne an fheall.
Ní'l ród, ní'l carn 'sní'l coirnéil,
'S ní'l casán cúmhang no cuimseach
Nár shiubhail mé gan amhras,
Thart thimchioll gach ród;
Chuaidh mé frí na gleanntaibh
'Gus as sin siar go Luimneach,
Domhnach mór 's an Teampul,
'S ní ann a bhí mo stór.
'Sé dubhairt bean an airigh liom
Gur chóra dam bheith i n-Árdamach
Aig imirt cluithe taiplis,
Aig an t-sáile i n-deas an mhoin;
Ghluais mise 'nuair sin
Fri choilte do mo ruagadh,
'S go dearbhtha ní bh-fuaireas í,
'S nár thruagh, bocht mo sceul.
Is créatúr lag, faon mé
Gan treoir acht mo shean-luth,
'S ní beo mé gan amhras
'S gan d' annsacht, a reult;
'S 'nuair a chuaidh mé ann cainte
Le stuam-ghrádh na sliom-ghlas,
'S gur b'é mo nuar gheur!
Nach rabhmuid a n-gleanntaibh síghe.
Labhair sí go ciuin liom,
A's thre comhrádh gur dhubhairt sí:
"Cáin as ní thiurfad,
'S diúltuighim do dháil;
Seunaim-se bheith cluidhte,
'S ní eugfaigh mé do dhiagh-sa,
’Ná tá ór aig na righthe,
'Gus fíon anns an Spáinn."
Sé Colum Cille na féile,
A dhuisg as mo neul mé,
'S d' innis dam ca'n taobh
A rabh an spéir-bhean 'na suidhe;
Go rabh sí a ngleanntán sléibhe,
A d-tig diuillbhear agus adhainn air,
'S bidh turas aige féin ann
A fhoileas de gach aon.
