AN GAODHAL.
961
AN ROS GEAL DUBH.
Is fada an réim do thug mé féin
[éadtrom,
O'ndé go niú,
An iomall sléibh amuigh, go h-ineálta,
Mar a b' eolach liom,
Lóch Éirne do léimfuinn,
Ce gur mór í an mhuir,
Gan am dhiaidh már ghile gréine
Acht mo Rós Gheal Dubh!
Go d-ti 'n aonach má théidheann tú
A díol do stuic,
Má théidhean tú, ná fan déighionach
'S an oidhche amuigh;
Bíodh boltaidhe air do dhoirse,
Is mór glas-cip,
Nó as baoghal duit an Cléireach
Do 'n Rós Gheal Dubh!
A Róisin na bíodh brón ort,
Na cás anois,
Tá do phárdún ó'n Róimh
Is ón Phápa agum,
Tá na bráithre teacht thar sáile,
Is a dtrill thar muir,
Is ní ceillfear fíon Spáinneach air
Mo Rós Gheal Dubh!
Tá grádh agam am lár dhuit
Le bliadhain anois,
Grádh cráidhte, grádh casmhar,
Grádh cíopatha,
Grádh d'fhág me gan sláinte,
Gan rian, gan ruith,
Is go bráth, bráth gan aon fhaill agam
Air Rós Gheal Dubh!
Do shiúbhalfainn-si an Mhumhan leat,
Is ciúmhas na g-cnoch,
Mar shúil go bh-faighinn rún ort
Nó páirt le cion;
A chraobh cúrtha, tugthar dúinne,
Go bh-fuil grádh agut dam;
Is gur b'í plúr-sgoth na m-ban mhúinte
Mo Rós Gheal Dubh!
Béidh an fharaige na tuilte dearga,
Is an spéir na fuil,
Béidh an saoghal na choga craorach,
Do dhruim na g-cnoc,
Béidh gach gleann sléibhe air fud Éireann
A's móinte air crith,
ROS GEAL DUBH.
A long, long way since yesterday
I wildly sped,
O’er mountain steep and valley deep,
With airy tread;
Loch Erne’s tide, tho' its wave be wide
I'd leap above
Were my guiding light that sunburst
[bright
The Ros geal dubh.
If to the fair you would repair
To sell your flocks,
I pray secure your every door
With bolts and locks ;
Nor linger late from the guarded gate
When abroad you rove,
Or the clerk will play through the live-
[long day
With Ros geal dubh.
My dearest Rose, why should these
[woes
Dishearten thee ?
The Pope of Rome hath sent thee home
A pardon free —
A priestly train, o’er the briny main,
Shall greet my love,
And wine of Spain to thy health we'll
[drain
My Ros geal dubh.
My love sincere is centred here
This year and more —
Love sadly vexing, love perplexing,
Love painful, sore,
Love, whose rigor hath crush'd my vi¬
[gor
Thrice hopeless love,
While fate doth sever me ever, ever
From Ros geal dubh!
Within thy heart could I claim a part,
One secret share —
We'd shape our flight, o’er the wild hills
[height
Towards Munster fair;
Branch of beauty's tree it seems to me
I have thy love —
And the mildest flower of hall or bower
Is Ros geal dubh!
The sea outspread shall be raging red,
All blood the skies —
And crimson war shall shout afar
Where the wild hills rise —
Each mountain glen and mossy fen,
In fear shall move,
