AN GAODHAL.
59
SEAN-CHAINT.
Gach rae mar a' treas,
Mar a' cúig 'gus mar a' seacht
'S mar gach lá dá bh-fuil le theacht.
Ní thagann na paidreacha
'S na h-agracha le chéile.
Uan dubh a fheiceál air d-tús
Searach 's a chúl leat,
Má ghoireann a' chuach a d-taobh do chúil,
Ní éireoghaidh an bhliadhain sin leat.
Go mairidh tú é, 's go g-caithidh tú é
'S ceud ceann eile n-a dhiagh.
Cho fhad 's mhairfeas sé fónfaidh sé,
'S 'nuair a bheidheas sé caithte,
Ceann eile chur ann áit.
Ní'l grádh dá mheud
Nach d-tagann fuadh dá réir.
Dhá fhad' í an oidhche tagann an lá.
Bhí sealadh fear a teacht a bhaile as
Sasana uair 's casadh bean dhóibh air
a m-bóthar. Bheannuigh sí dhóibh, agus ar
sise, "A bh-facaidh sibh m' fhear-sa a
teacht a bhaile as Sasana dhóibh?" "Mai-
se cá bh'fhios dúinn-ne a bh-facaidh no nach
bh-facaidh. Cia 'n sórt fear a bhí ann?"
"Fearrín beag meirgeach, dubh,
Shaoiltheá go rabh sé caoch 's ní rabh."
J. J. LYONS.
BEAN DUBH AN GHLEANNA.
[Le E. Breathnach.]
A bh-facaidh tú nó an g-cualaidh tú
An stuaire dob' áille gnaoi,
Á ngleannta dubha, 's mé ann uaignios,
Gan suaimhnios do ló na d'oidhch',
Béilín caoin an t-suan-roisg
Do bhuair mé 's do bhreodhaigh mo chroidhe
Mo beannacht féin go buan léi,
Go d-ti an g-cuan úd b'é áit a m-bidh !
Atá sé sgríobhtha a b-prionnta
Do chom seang 's do mhala caol,
Is do bhéilín tanuidh faoi sin
Na saoilfinn do dheunfadh breug;
Do chrobh as gile míne
Ionna an síoda 's ná clúmh na n-eun,
As buartha cráidhte bhím-se
Nuair smaoinim air sgarúinn léi!
An uair dhearcas í, do théigh mé,
Le geur shearc d'a gnaoi 's d'a snó
A miona cíocha glégeal,
A déad deas, 'sa dlaoidh-fholt óir;
Ba gile a dreach ná Déirdre
Chuir laochraidh na Midhe air feodh,
'S na Blánad mhín na g-claon-rosg,
Le ar traochadh na mílte treon.
WHEN WE WERE YOUNG.
BY THOMAS CALLAHAN.
Long, long ago, in the days of my childhood,
I plucked the wild flower that bloomed on the
hill —
And wove the green boughs, with a harp in the
center,
And carried them home to my young brother
Will.
I watched the crystal streams as they gushed from
the mountains,
And run with their course through valley and
lea —
I fondly admired the works of creation
As I watched those pure waters on their march
to the sea.
In woods of green pine and oak of past ages,
Where sages related the deeds they had done —
The concerts of birds on a bright summer's morn¬
ing,
When truly translated will tell of the glories to
come.
On the rude, mossy rocks where the bees they
were humming
And storing their honey against winter's bleak
blast —
How well did they know that the red and white
roses,
Were types of brave heroes that fought in the
past.
Our readers will remember that friend Callahan
is no mean poet in his native language either, for
his muse in it has graced the columns of the Gael.
We have other pieces from Mr. Callahan which
may be interesting by and by.]
Editor McGarry, Portland (Oregon) Sentinel,
How dare you advise Catholics to have a “back-
bone" in this Anglican country ? A gristle will do
IRISH IMITATION OF CHRIST.
(SECOND EDITION).
With Life of Translator, Father O’Sullivan, the
celebrated Irish scholar. A treat for Irish learn¬
ers and scholars. The best Irish book published
Pure and easy Irish.
“Those who wish to learn correct Irish, cannot
do so more effectually than by learning every word
and phrase in the Irish Imitation. — Dublin Nation
Price 1s. 6d.; handsomely bound 2s. 6d.; By
post 3d. extra.
Mulcahy — Patrick St., Cork, Ireland.
Air — Petrie's A.I.M. No. 1138.
Ní hé a rinne t-abhrán. D'aistrigh sé
é. tá ceatramh fágta amach.
Vide Irish Popular Songs. p. 46.
Vide Conlach Glas an Fhóghmhair.
