﻿920
AN GAODHAL.
She owned that she a talebearer had been,
And bore a bit of scandal up and down
To all the long-tongued gossips of the town
The holy father for her other sin,
Granted the absolution asked of him,
But while he for the rest pardon gave,
And that to do fit penence she must go
Out by the wayside where thistles grow,
And gathering the largest, ripest one,
Scatter its seeds, and when this was done
She must come back another day
To tell him his commands she did obey.
The woman thinking this a penance light,
Hastened to do his will that very night,
Feeling right glad she had escaped so well
Next day but one she went the priest to tell.
The priest sat still and heard her story through,
Then said “There’s something still for you to do
Those little thistle seeds which you have sown,
I bid you go re-gather every one."
The woman said “ but father, ’twould be vain,
To try to gather up those seeds again.
The winds have scattered them both far and wide
Over the meadowed vale and mountain side.
The father answered, "Now I hope that from this
The lesson I have taught, you will not miss,
You cannot gather back the scattered seeds,
Which far and wide will grow to noxious weeds,
Nor can the mischlef once by scandal sown,
By any penance be again undone.
— Tuam News
SEAMUS GREAGARAIDHE.
Like "Little Stack of Bailey."
Air ;— An Spealadóir. ?
A Shéamuis bheirim mo beannacht duit
Ó thárla 'n foghmhar crapadh agad,
Cuir asteach na fataidhe
Agus tabhair a bhaile an mhóin,
No go bh-fáidh mé mo chuid airgid
Agus ceannóchaidh mise bróga maith',
Mo chiaradh eidir baintreacha
Ní fhanfaidh mé níos mó,
Go d-téigh mé 'mach go Connamara,
An áit a bh-fuil na cailínidhe,
A deunadh rinc leo 'gus frailic
Asteach go tigh an óil,
Ní fhillfidh mé cho fhad 's mheirfeas mé,
Ní lughmhar liom an macmhalachtan
Nó na stróinsigh cailligh malluighthe
A tá ratha le mo thóin.
Mo ghrádh go beul na cairige,
Bhí dídin agus fasgadh ann,
Ní breug nach maith an fadhmhar
A bhí agam ann le fághail,
Bhí mo bha le seoladh 'mach agam,
Na gabhair le bleághan tharc agam,
Na h-uain le cuir asteach agam,
'San ain-fhir liom air láimh;
'Sa Righ na bh-fear go d-tagaidh tú
'Gus go d-tóigidh tú ar an m-beallach mé,
A b-páirt éigin de 'n domhan.
A n-áit nach m-béidh mé acu ann,
Fór bheurfadh siad air teangas
Agus bhualfadh siad air an malaidhe me
'S ní dheunaim-se acht breathnughadh
Anns an taobh a m-bídheann siad ann.
Mo mháistreas atá ann aice liom,
Dar m' fhocal is maith an tarradh í,
Léighfeadh sí genealogy
Air thoghadh a bh-fuil le fághail.
Tá 'n rule a three by heart aice.
'S gach aon rud eile ann aice sin,
Ní airighim gnothaidhe fairige
A sheolfadh mé de 'n Spáinn;
('Sa Righ na bh-fear go dtagaidh tú
'S go dtigidh tú ar an m-bealach mé
A d-taobh éigin de 'n domhan
N-áit nach m-béidh mé aici ann'.
Mar mbeidheadh mo leabhar in mo ghlaic
[agam
'S gach aon nidh eile ann aice sin
Beidheadh an teangas 'gus an t slat aice
Leagthadh faoi mo shrón.
From the dictation of Mr John Kane of West¬
port, county Mayo. I have repeated for lines in
the last verse in order to fill up as that is all that
he knew of it, —
J J LYONS.
Beware of the English spies; it is
said that they are here in hundreds
trying to break up the National Leag¬
ue and kindred patriotic societies by
fomenting strife among the leaders.
Beware of him who seeks leadership,
writes to the press in disparagement
of the recognized leaders, and, also,
of the Irish-American papers that pub¬
lish their writing, they being subsidiz¬
ed by the Le Carrons.
MOTHERS ! Don’t Fail To Procure Mrs.
Winlow's SOOTHING SYRUP For Your Chil¬
dren While Cutting Teeth.
It soothes the child, softens the gums, allays
all pain, cures wind colic, and is the best remedy
or diarrhoea.
TWENTY-FIVE CENTS a BOTTLE.
