AN GAODHAL.
873
AN MUILIONN UISGE.
LE SABHADH DÚDNAIGH
Éist leis an muilionn uisge,
Air feadh faid an lae,
Mar chaitheas gliogar an roithe
Na h-uaireana go réidh.
Coruigheann gaoth an fhóghmhair
Na dilleoga go fann;
Seinneann buainteoiridhe san magh
Ceangal suas na b-punann;
Táim taithighthe le sean-rádh,
'S le draoidheachd an draoi:
"Ní mheiltfidh muilionn go bráth
Leis an uisge chuaidh faoi."
Ní spracfaidh gaoth samhraidh níos mó
Dilleoga scaptha thair mhuir 's sáil,
Ní gheárfaidh corrán go deó
Gráinne buidhe an sgiobóil;
Ritheann an sruthán air aghaidh,
Socair, ciuin, gan coiseadh;
Gan filleadh air ais a choidhch'
Chum an Mhuilinn Uisge.
Is fíor sean-rádh na nGreug,
Le fuagradh domhain le'r n-aghaidh;
"Ní mheiltfidh muilionn go h-eug
Leis an uisge d'imthigh uaidh."
Glac an léighean chugat féin,
A chroidhe grádhach, fíor;
Tá bliadhanta órdha rithe g-céin,
Is óige 'g imtheacht siar.
Foghluim led' bheatha chuir i bh-feidhm —
Ná caill aon lá sona!
Ní thabharfaidh am thart an réim
Chaith'mar uainn go dona.
Ná fág aon fhocal maoth gan rádh, —
Grádhuidh air feadh do bhith:
"Ní mheiltfidh muilionn go bráth
Leis an uisge chuaidh faoi."
Oibridh ca fhaid 's shoilsigheas grian,
A fhearaibh chródha, teann'!
Níor shnígh ariamh an sruthán,
Muna leis an muilionn.
Ná fan go seiltfidh grian an mháraigh
A ghaethe air do shlíghe go tiugh;
An meud thig leat féin iarraidh,
Tá san bh-focal, "In Diu!"
Cúmhacht, sláinte agus sgeó,
Ní mhairfid a choidhch';
THE WATER-MILL
BY SARAH DOUDNEY.
Listen to the water-mill,
Through the livelong day;
How the clicking of the wheel
Wears the hours away.
Languidly the autumn wind
Stirs the withered leaves :
On the field the reapers sing,
Binding up the sheaves:
And a proverb haunts my mind,
And as a spell is cast,
“The mill will never grind
With the water that is past."
Summer winds revive no more,
Leaves strewn o'er earth and main
The sickle never more shall reap
The yellow, garnered grain ;
And the rippling stream flows on,
Tranquill, deep and still,
Never gliding back again
To the water Mill.
Truly speaks the proverb old,
With a meaning vast:
“The mill will never grind
With the water that is past."
Take the lesson to thyself,
Loving heart, and true;
Golden years are fleeting by,
Youth is passing, too,
Learn to make the most of life,
Lose no happy day!
Time will ne’er return again
Sweet chances thrown away,
Leave no tender word unsaid —
But love while love shall last;
“The mill will never grind
With the water that is past."
Work, while yet the sun does shine
Men of strength and will,
Never does the streamlet glide
Unless by the mill.
Wait not till to-morrow's sun,
Beams brightly on thy way,
All that thou canst call thine own
Lies in this word, "To-day"
Power, intellect and health
Will not always last,
