AN GAODHAL
33
BAILE GARRDHA,
Condae Mhuigheo,
An t-Ochtmhadh lá Márta, 1895.
Dearbhraithirín Ó Mo Chroidhe!
A dhearbhraithirín dhílis is fada ó d' imthigh tú uainn,
Thú féin 's mo dhearbhshiúr air chóisde na maile doinn;
An sin bhí mo spioraid cho h-éadtrom le sinneán gaoi,
Ach is trom 'nois mo choiscéim, a dhearbhraithirín O mo chroidhe.
A cháirde ann uair sin bhí tusa féin láidir teann,
Níor bh'fhéidir do leithéid fhághail 'san áit seo in uimir no gleann,
Ach cluinim go bh-fuil tú anois dul ann ísle brigh,
Á, budh mhór, mhór an sgeul sin, a dhearbhraithirín, O mo chroidhe.
Maiseadh! a gcuimhnigheann tú ar Mhártan na gruige doinn,
'Nuair i bhidh tú fágbháil Roundfort ag imtheacht uainn?
Gheall tú a g-cúig m-bladhna go d-tiocfá ar chóiste an righ,
Á, is fada na cúig m-bliadhna * iad, a dhearbhraithirin, O mo chroidhe
'Nuair a d' imthigh tú, a cháirde, bhí m' athair is mo mháthair beo,
Mhair siad seal bliadhna 's d' imthigh siad uainn do deo;
Cho fad 's is leur liom mhair siad deich m-bliadhna 's trí,
'S d'fhág mise brónach, a dhearbhraithirín, Ó mo chroidhe.
Is maith an sgeul duitse go raibh tú i bh-fad ó 'n ár,
'S nach bh-facaidh tú sínte iad, caointe iad, os cionn cláir;
Ach an te fhanas 'sa m-baile beidh brón air a's anró choidh'
'S fuair mise mo sháith dhíobh, a dhearbhraithirín, O mo chroidhe.
Níor sgríobh tú aig m'athair nó mo mháthair ach litir nó dhó,
Do chaill tú do nádúr ó d'fhág tú féin Condae Mhuigheo;
'Nois cuir agam litir a's do phictiúr a chongbhóchas mé choidh',
Agus pógfaidh mé féin iad, a dhearbhraithirín, O mo chroidhe.
Martan O'Mia-
* Ocht m-bliadhana deug agus fithcheadh.
The following is a semiliteral translation to make
the poem more easily read. —
Dear brother it is a long time since you left us.
You and my sister on the brown mail coach;
Then my spirits were as light as a breeze of wind,
But my step is now heavy my dear brother.
My friend at that time you were stout and strong,
Your equal could not be got here on hill or valley,
But I hear that now you are on the decline —
Ah, more is the pity, my dear brother.
Well! friend do you think of Martin the brown hair¬
ed
When you were leaving Ronndfort leaving us ?
You promis'd you'd return in five years on the king's
[coach
They are a long five years, my dear brother.
When you went, my friend, my father and mother
[lived;
They lived some years and left us for ever,
As far as I can remember they lived 10 & 3 years,
And left me mournful, dear brother of my heart.
A good story for you that you were far from the
slaughter,
And that you did not see them stretched, cried, o’er
[board,
But he who stops at home will have sorrow & mis¬
fortune ever,
And I got enough of it, my dear brother.
You wrote to my father & mother but a letter or two
Ah ! you lost the nature since you left the Co Mayo,
Now send me a letter and your picture that I'll keep
for ever,
And myself will kiss them, dear brother of my heart
