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AN GAODHAL.
ELGIA
D'Eoghan Mac Ail, Árdeaspog
Thuama,
1
O Éire mo chroidhe,
Ní aoibhinn dhuit,
Tá brón agus baoghal
Air teorain do righeacht;
O 'n ceud-uair,
Da thanig an t-eug
Aig buaileadh an te,
Raibh fhlaith ar g-cinidhsa
Fiúntach.
2
Do shagart arún,
Cho modhamhail ciún,
Le mh-bochtaibh,
Gleann agus shleibhte;
Acht geur agus teann,
Mar Luath na Bran,
'N aghaidh do namhad
Gallda.
3
O Éire mo chroidhe
Ní aoibhinn dhuit
Óir tá Eoghan, do shaoi,
'San uaigh a luidhe
'S guil agus caoin
Ann Nephin;
Do fhile a's do mhaor,
Do árd easpog fíor,
Flaith ar g-cinidhra
Fiúntach.
4
Béidh a ainim go deo
Ann ar grádh fíor-beo
Gan sgith na codal
Ann Connae;
L' a sheinim a's a cheoil
Atá againn go fóill
Flaith ar g-cinidhsa
Fiúntach.
5
Béidh teanga 'n Gaoidhal
Aig insin do sgeul
Cia brigh e 'n áit a
M-béid sinn
Tridh 'n domhain mór
Faoi gleann na n-deor
A áisge dhilis
Éireann.
Eoghan Ua Carruil.
ELEGY to JOHN McHALE,
Archbishop of Tuam.
(Translated from the Irish poem, — J. J. C.)
1
Oh Erin my loved one,
Unhappy thy lot,
Now danger and sorrow
Surround thee,
Since that hour death came
To quench the life-flame
Of a Prince of our Race,
Ever worthy!
2
He, the Priest, well esteemed,
So gentle and meek
To the poor
Of the valley and mountain ;
But eager and bold
To the foe of the fold
As e'er was Bran,
The swift wolf-dog.
3
Oh Erin my loved one,
Unhappy thy lot,
For the Priest of the West,
In the tomb —
Lies at rest;
While sore is the weeping
'Round Nephin.
He, the poet and guide,
The hierarchy’s pride,
A prince of our Race,
Ever worthy !
4
His name shall endure
In our love, ever pure,
Without ceasing or sleep,
In green Connae.
In music and song,
Thy fame we'll prolong,
Oh prince of our Race,
Ever worthy!
5
And the tongue of the Gael
Thy story shall tell,
In climes where e'er
He wanders;
To the distant poles
Of the sea-girt earth:
In this lower valley of sorrows,
Thy memory he'll fondly cher¬
ish —
Till thy name shall ring o'er
[land and sea,
In paeans of triumph when we¬
're free!!!
