AN GAODHAL.
281
Mar an mhaidin fhuagras lá ;
Rúindiamhar facas thríd gach ceo
Le 'r bhreathuigh faighidh leus síor-bheo.
4
Tógaidh suas go h-árd bhur n-guth
'Gus seiníghidhe amach ó chroídhe bhur ndán,
'Ghus bidheadh bhur g-coisir amhuil sruth
Le mórán ceolta binne lán;
Tabhairt air bhár na d-tuilteadh cruinn
Brígh sean-rannta beannuighe binn.
5
Rannta thig anuas ó thrá
Na maidne 'r cumadh talamh 's neamh,
'S rabh cinn ar sliochd faoi amhgar 's sgáth
Mar gheil do ghlór na peist, go leamh;
Nuair do thug solás Dé d'a chroidhe,
Sgeith leus na doighe os cionn a shlíghe.
6
Ó bhroinn na neulta doimhin', dubh',
Chuir air bhreith-síor an Bhriathair sgáth,
D' fhoilsigh 'mach go trócaireach, guth,
A bhreith ó mhnaoi ann am le fáth,
Go n-geabhfadh air a námhuid teann
Buaidh, 's go m-brisfeadh fós a cheann.
7
Samhuil an tuim do chonairc Maois,
Trá bhí pobal Eabhra crom
Faoi 'n g cuing gheur a d-fhágaidh baois
An droch-righ teannta orthu trom;
D' fhan an tom gan dóthughadh ó'n teas,
Cí nach n-deachaidh an lasair as.
8
An magh faoi fhál gach am 's gach trá,
Gan air bheith cantughadh beul no guth,
Na rósa aonmhair' uil' faoi bhláth,
'S faoi glasa dúinte suas gach sruth —
Samhuil iad seo na h-Óighe saoir'
Nach rabh a riamh le peacadh daor,
9
O'n am tá ársa 'g-cian le linn
Caithréim ghlórmhar máthair Dé,
Bheith 'g-cill n-Epheis 'ga gabhail go binn,
Ní 'r cluiseadh aoibhneas ceoil mar é,
Ó chloig chill Pheadair teacht do bhi,
'S go flaitheas tógbháil suas gach croidhe.
10
Oighe! a d' thainic neach de dhroing
Na n-aingeal 'nuas ó Dhia na sluagh,
Fuagradh tuirling' faoi do bhroinn
D'a mhac aon-gheinte fós cho luath
'Gus bhéarfá toil : is thar na mná
Do bhí tú beannuighthe ann gach trá.
11
'N uair bheidheas ar laethe caite, fann,
N-déis ar n-aistir thríd an t-slíghe,
'Gus beulaighe buartha, treasna gleann
Na ndeor; fágh dhúinn a Mháthair sgíth,
As ucht do Mhic, ó ghágh a's baoghal,
'Gus flaitheas Dé le saoghal na saoghal.
Translation.
Lines written in Rome in December
1854, on the occasion of the dogmatic
promulgation of the doctrine of the Im¬
maculate Conception of the Blessed
Virgin.
1
A pilgrim from the sainted Isle,
On which amidst the darkest storm,
The “Ocean's Star" ne’er ceased to smile
And guard its ancient faith from harm;
'Twould ill become no voice to raise
To sound the sinless Virgin's praise.
2
Nor need our harp be here unstrung
On willows hanging, from sad fears
That should it breathe our native tongue
Its tones should melt us into tears ;
On Tiber's banks no tongue is strange,
Rome's faith and tongue embrace earth's
range.
3
Let's hail through distant time the star
Whose feeble yet auspicious ray
Announced our recent feast afar,
Like morning kindling into day
Of which the heaven taught seers of old
Have in prophetic glimpses told.
4
Let each one raise his choral voice
Gushing from the heart's deep well,
And whilst in concord we rejoice,
Let that concord be the swell
Of mingling streams, that bear along
The precious faith of sacred song.
5
That sacred song whose spring we trace
Back to the dawning of the world
When, ere the parents of our race
Were from their blissful Eden hurled,
The Almighty Father cheer'd the gloom
