Beiḋid canaḋ agus beannuġaḋ lae Ċluaintarḃ;
Lá breáġ, lá dóṫċais, lá na h-Éireann féin.
Lá mór ’n-a d-tuitiḋ síos an ċúṁaċt buḋ
De ċréaċdóraiḃ na mara ’gus na d-ṫír.
Aċt ins an uair so féin, lán cúṁaċṫa, clú,
Ní ḃ-fuil síoṫċáin in mo ċroiḋe. Tá eagla
An-ṁór, uaṫḃáfaċ, naċ raiḃ ceart agami
An méad a riġneas air mo ṡon a ḋéanaḋ.
B-ḟéidir gur cionnṫaċ an Láṁ Láidir so
I raḋarc Dé: ’gus air an aḋḃar sin,
B’ḟéidir go d-ṫuiṫfiḋ síos a ḋíoġalṫas
Go ṫrom in uair na buaiḋe air mo ċeann.
Eoin Séamus Ua Cearḃaill.
DRAMATIC SCENES IN IRISH.
Brian Boroimhe before his Last Battle.
By Rev. J. J. O'Carroll, S.J.
Brian.—Great is the power my hand doth
Great is my glory in our Irish land;—
Yet greater is the pain that gnaws my heart
Than power, or praise of men I have
The race that held the sceptre over Erin
From age to age till I arose. Nor did I
Subdue on battle-fields alone their clans:—
They are become my followers! On this
Before the haughty city of the Danes,
Stand the Ui-Neill in array beside me.
And at my right hand, Malachy himself,
The man from whom I tore the crown of
Is ready to do battle at my call.
As bravely as when, leading on the hosts,
His strong sword won the early victory
Over the golden-collared Danish king.
No longer can the Danes withstand my
My victory is certain now. It will
Be great. It will be famed and glorious too.
For with the courage of despair the Danes
There shall be glory round this battle-day
Such as was never known for war in Erin;
And in the ages that are yet to come
Its name and story shall be sweet to hear,
Till even men that cannot speak our tongue
Shall sing of and shall bless Clontarf’s
Fair, hopeful day, Erin shall call her own!
Most glorious day, when falls for evermore
The pirate empire over land and seas!
Yet in this hour of honour full and might,
My heart can find no peace. One great
Pursues me, that I did what was not just
In raising up my power to this high state.
Perhaps this strong right hand seems
stained with guilt
To the clear eyes of God, and therefore now.
Perhaps in very hour of victory,
His vengeance will descend upon my head.
AONDAĊT NA GAEḊILGE
Leis an g-Craoiḃín Aoiḃinn.
’Sí Aondaċt na Gaeḋilge a ṫuilleas an
D’Aondaċt na Gaeḋilge go raiḃ an onóir,
Do ṡaorṫuiġ go láidir, agus d’oibriġ go mór
Ċum an leaḃairín breáġ so do ċur ós ár
Le congḃáil beo
Na teangan is sine,
Tá an leaḃairín so
Anois air bun:
Tá gráḋ, tá dúil
Tá dóṫċas linn-ne,
Ná leig air g-cúl
An gráḋ ’s an fonn.
Ḃí an Ġaeḋilig leaṫ-ċráiḋte ’gus múċta
Dob’ ionnan a’s marḃ í, caillte, leaṫ-ḃeo,
Aċt fáilte, ’gus fáilte, ’gus fáilte go deo