30
AN GAODHAL.
Seághan Ua Duibhir an Ghleanna.
This beautiful Jacobite song by Eoghan Ruadh
is adapted to the air of Seaghan O'Duibhir an
Ghleanna, of which the original song, with trans¬
lation by the late Thomas Furlong, will be found
at page 86, vol. ii. of Hardiman's Irish Minstrelsy
Colonel John O'Dwyer, for whom the song was
composed, was a distinguished officer who com¬
manded in Waterford and Tipperary in 1651, but
after the capitulations, sailed from the former port
with five hundred of his faithful followers for
Spain. The O'Dwyers were a branch of the Her¬
emonians of Leinster, and possessed the present
baronies of Kilnemanach, in Tipperary. From
an early period they were remarkable for their cou¬
rage, and after the expatriation of the old Irish no¬
bility, several of the family distinguished them¬
selves abroad in the Irish Brigade. In the last
century General O'Dwyer was Governor of Bel¬
grade, and Admiral O'Dwyer displayed great bra¬
very in the Russian service.
— TUAM NEWS.
[Yes, the Irish have gone with a vengeance, and
are closing up England's work-shops and factories
to-day ! — Ed. G.]
Mo chás, mo chaoi! mo cheasbhadh!
An fáth thug claoidhte an easbhadh!
Faighe, daoithe, 's sagairt,
Dáimh agus cléir!
Gan dáin da riomh le aitios,
Gan ráidhte grinn dá g-canadh:
Gan sáimh-chruit bhinn dá spreagadh,
A m-ban-bhrogaibh réidh !
Gach raibh d'fhuil Mhílidh cheannais,
Láidir, laochda, thapa;
Ba ghnáthach rainceach, rathach,
Lán-oilte air faobhar!
Gan stát, Gan buidhean, gan fearann,
Ar is míle measadh
Na Seághan Ua Duibhir an Ghleanna
A bheith fágthadh gan Game!
Tráith a raoir am leabadh,
Ag cásamh díth na seabhach,
Tháinic sguim gan sgaipeadh
Ó lámhaibh Morpheus!
Faoi'm dháil go sílteach, seasgair,
Támhach, tím, gan taise,
D'fhág mé air díth mo thapaidh,
'Gus d'árduig mo neul!
Gan spás a tigheacht do dhearcas,
Fáingeach, ghrínn tre m' aisling,
Go h-áluinn, íogair, aibig,
Táite le m' thaobh.
'S gur bhreághthadh línn, gan bladar,
Sgáil 's aoighir a leacan,
Ná 'n mhánladh mhín le'r cailleadh
Gárda na Trae!
Ba cháblach, cíortha, casda,
Táclach, dlaoitheach, dathach,
Sgáinneach, trínseach, fada
Fáingeach go feur,
A bláth-fholt bínneach, leabhair,
Cárnach, bíseach, snamach,
Ó árd a cínn na n-dlathaibh,
Táith-leabhair léi,
Bhí sgáil na g-caor air lasadh
Tre bháine an líth na leacain,
Mándacht, míne, 's maise
Táite 'na sgéimh!
'S a samh-rosg rín le 'r chealg,
Táinte laoich gan tapadh!
Sásta 's ionann mala
Árd-snuidhte, caol.
[This song, which every Irishman should learn,
will be concluded in the next issue.]
TRANSLATION.
O source of lamentation !
Bitter tribulation.
That I see my nation
Fallen down so low !
See her sages hoary,
Once the island's glory,
Wandering without story
Or solace, to and fro.
Mileadh’s offspring knightly
Powerful, active, sprightly,
They who wielded lightly
Weighty arms of steel,
Left with no hopes higher,
With griefs ever nigher,
Worse woes than O'Dwyer
Of the Glens could feel !
Last night sad and pining,
As I lay reclining,
Sleep at length came twining
Bands around my soul;
Then a maiden slender,
Azure-eyed and tender,
Came, me dreamt, to render
Lighter my deep dole.
Fair she was, and smiling,
Bright and woe-beguiling ;
Vision meet for wiling
Grief, and bringing joy.
None might e'er compare her
With a maiden fairer —
O! her charms were rarer
Than the Maids of Troy.
Like that damsel’s olden
Flowed her tresses golden,
In rich braids enfolden,
To the very ground ;
Thickly did they cluster.
In a darling muster,
And in a matchless lustre,
Curled around aud round.
The red berry’s brightness,
And the lily's whiteness,
Comeliness and lightness,
Marked her face and shape.
She had eye-brows narrow,
Eyes that thrilled the marrow
And from whose sharp arrow
None could e'er escape.
