88
AN GAODHAL
ins an mballa, & níor fheud siad a dhul
níos fuide. Chuir an Caiptín a lámh in
o phóca ; do tharraing eochair mhór throm
(Le bheith leanta)
PHILO-CELTS.
The Brooklyn Philo-Celtic Society
had its annual reunion and ball in
Turn Hall, Atlantic Av. near Hoyt
street, on April 13th. It was the lar¬
gest gathering the Society ever com¬
manded. After the exercises commen¬
ced, fully one third of the audience
had to stand. Mr P J Boylan, of the
New York Society, presided, and be¬
fore introducing him, the President
said, —
A Dheirbhshiúireacha agus a Dhearbhráithre
Is gnóthach leis an g-Cumann Gaodh¬
ailge seo, ar ócáidibh mar seo, beagán
focal do rádh i d-teangain ar d-tíre —
teangain na h-Éireann — ag fáiltiughadh
ar g-cáidre noch atá d'ar mórughadh le
na láthair inseo anocht; mar sin, in
ainm an Chumainn, cuirim
Ceud míle fáilte rómhaibh!
On introducing Mr Boylan as char¬
man the president paid a just trib¬
ute to his services in the Gaelic cause.
Mr. Boylan, having taken the chair,
addressed the audience with his usual
eloquence, and announced as the first
number on the programme, Androm¬
ache's Address to Hector, which Mr M
J Logan would read. Here are the o¬
pening lines. —
A dhuine dhána faraoir tá ar tí,
Do bhasca féin gan imnídh fa do mhnaoi
'Gus fa do leanbh, cidh gur dóibh is baoghal
A bheith gan coimirc, tréigthe ar 'n saoghal
Is ort-sa 'mháin tá 'n námhaid uile brath
Is tusa 'mháin is mian leo síneadh gcath
Má's leat i thuitim 's truagh, mar sin,
gan mé,
Roimh thusa imtheacht, sínte síos faoi 'n
gcré.
Má bhídhim do dhiaigh mo bhaintreach, béidh
mo bhidh,
Mar bhí ó thús, faoi dhubhrón 'gus faoi
chaoi,
Gan athair, máthair, bráthair, le mo ló,
Maolughadh mo leathtrom, no roinnt
liom sógh.
Song,
A Grave in Sweet Kildare.
Prof. Ed. O'Mahony.
Song
(Irish) The Minstrel Boy, Moore
Miss M A Condon.
Song,
The Irish Republic,
Miss Agnes Leonard.
Song, Kathleen Mavourneen, Crouch,
Mr J Ardma Donahy.
Recitation, The Language of our Race
Mr B J Martin.
Song, The Meeting of the Waters.
Ní bhfuil ins an gcruinne aon chumar
no gleann,
Mar an lag a bhfuil co-shruth na dís abh¬
ann ann;
Is luaithe bhéidheas eulaighthe uaim m' ar¬
rann , 'smo bhrígh,
Ná chríonfas an gleann glas úd úr as
mo chroidhe.
Ní shé 'n t-amharc breágh, aoibhinn bhí sga¬
rtha ar gach taobh,
Ní shé loinnir an chriostáil, no úr-bhláth
na g-craobh,
Ní shé cogar na srutha mar eug-cheol
mná síghe,
Ach rud éigin níos dílse tá i n-doímhn¬
eacht an chroidhe:
Siad mo chairde do cheangail mo chum¬
ann 'smo chlaon,
Do scap ar gach nidh ann, sgéimh shásta
na mian;
Óir ní'l aon nidh d'a áille nach meud¬
uigheann a bhláth,
D'a fheicsint thré shúilibh air a mbídheann
againn grádh.
A ghleann aoibhinn cath-abhna, budh suaimh¬
neach mo shuan,
Faoi fhasgadh do chábháin le mo chara
fíor-bhuan,
'N áit a m-béidhmuid ó na síontaibh
