“Mo ṁallaċg go bráṫ ar an tulaċ ḃíos
árd!
Ní ḃíonn uirri aċt ciaplaċ[1] a’s tomó-
gaiḋe fraoiġ.”
Do ṫug sisi rása anuas ó na hárdáin,
Isteaċ ’un na bpáirciḋe go ndearna sí
cuairt;
Ḃí Miċeál go fáilliġe[2] i gcoirneul an
ġárrḋa,
A láṁ i n-a lomraiḋ a’s greim ar a
cluais!
Ṁarḃ sé mo ċaora, a’s ġearr sé a sgórnaċ,
Ḃain di a croiceann, a’s stiall sé a
cnáṁ’;
Tá a huainín ag meiḋliġ ag iarraiḋ a
ṁáṫar,
Ag cuartuġaḋ na bpáirc, aċt ní’l sí le
faġáil.
Droċ-raṫ ar an ġaduiḋe a ṁarḃ mo ċaora
A’s d’ḟág ṫú ’do ḋílleaċt, m’uainín ḃig
ḃáin!
A’s mo ċaora ḃeag ḋíleas, giḋ cruaiḋ na
sléiḃte,
Is mairg nár ḟan tú ar na tulaiġiḃ tá
árd.
TRANSLATION.
THE DEAR LITTLE SHEEP.
O dear little sheep, stay up till a month’s end; be not you lowering the braird every day; for you will be sent from the world, there will be want of your food on you; do not you that thing that will put you to death. I sleep not in the night, but (keep) sighing and thinking that you will be in the prison under cost and under fine; and O dear little sheep, how sad for you is that thing that will put the noose on your white throat.
The Sheep:—
“Too much have I taken, alas! of your advice. I will take no more ot it,” ’tis what she said to me; “my lamb- kin is without a drink, and I shall not have a drop for him unless I get leave to be through what there is. And Kelly, astoreen, do not tie me in a rope, and I will put a coat on you that will be handsome on your back; do not take notice of me now till the harvest, and your sheaf will be none the less for my sock (i.e., snout) being in it.
“Peter Kieran, my blessing for ever with you, and send the brockies of this place up to Slieve Rua; potatoes or grain, it is not possible to save them, unless their (i.e., the brockies’) bones were tied up and put into the grave. Brian Meehan, if you let me to the field, I will give you a third of what there is on my back; I will give you a writing in pen and in paper that I will never go across over the boundary.
“Michael Kenny, have you dug the garden? Is there a bushlet or a frainlet poking up? My curse for ever on the hillock that is high! There is not on it but coarse grass and little bushes of heath.” She gave a race down from the heights, into the field till she made a visit; Michael was treacherously in the corner of the garden, his hand in her fleece and a grip on her ear.
He killed my sheep and he cut her throat, took off her skin, and stripped her bones; her lambkin is bleating, seeking its mother, searching the fields, but she is not to be found. Bad luck on the thief that killed my sheep, and left you an orphan, my little white lambkin! And my little dear sheep, though hard are the mountains, it is a pity you did not stay on the hills that are high.
Peadar Mac Fhionnlaoiġ.
Nótaiḋe.
- ↑ Ciaplaċ .i. feur garḃ cruaiḋ ḟásas ar na sléiḃtiḃ.
- ↑ Fáilliġe .i .fealltaċ.
Cionn .i. ceann.
Geaṁar .i. arḃar glas sul a mbíonn na diasa le feiscin.
’N báis .i. ċum báis.
Sgreadamán .i. sgórnaċ no píob sgreadas.
Barraiḋeaċt .i. iomarcuiḋ.
Cuirigíḋ .i. cuiríḋ.
Cur ’n soṁruġaḋ .i. cur ċum sonnruiġṫe .i. taḃairt fá deara. Sonnraḋ .i. gaċ a ḃfuil speisialta; ionann é ⁊ sainred nó sainriuṫ sa’ tsean-Ġaeḋilg; sain .i. neiṁ-ionann nó neaṁċosṁail.
Laoide .i. luġaide.
Brocaiġe .i caoiriġ Albanaċa le na haiġṫe duḃa.
When two suppositions are expressed, the infinitive is generally employed in the second.
Gobaḋ .i. ag sáṫaḋ a ġuib nó a ḃáirr amaċ.
NÍ AR DIA A ḂUIḊEAĊAS.
(Leanta.)
D’ḟan na daoine go léir i n-a suiḋe go ceann sealaid, ⁊ ar an ḃfeaḋ so ḃí an múr ag druidim leis an dtráiġ go bog siṫ.[1] Ṫáinic aon tonn aṁáin i ndeirioḋ na dála,[2] do líon an cuan suas go baic le múr sgoṫógaċ fada dearg. Do ṗreab Dóṁnall i n-a ċoilg-ṡeasaṁ[3] ⁊ do ċaiṫ é féin ar a ġruga[4] anuas ar ċarn do’n ṁúr ⁊ do ḃí ag a réitioċ le fuirse, ’nuair seo isteaċ tonn eile, do ċuaiḋ lea’stuas de ⁊ sul ar ḟeud seision cuiṁneaṁ ar aon-níḋ (aċt ar an múr) do scuab sí léi amaċ é idir fuṫ feaḋ. Do ḃéic ⁊ do sgread ar ċoḃair, aċt ní raiḃ breis deaḃaiḋ ar aonne’—níḋ nár ḃ’iong- naḋ—dul i ḃfiúntar a ċaillṫe[5] ċun eision do ṡaoraḋ.
“Cuirimis iarraiḋ ar ṫéid suas go tiġ Ḋiarmuda Léiṫ,” arsa Piaras Paor.
“Ḃeiḋeaḋ se báiṫte sul a sroiċfiḋe leaṫ- ṡliġe suas,” arsa Pádruig Buiḋe.
“Cuir an raicín amaċ ⁊ b’feud go ngrea- móċaḋ sé é,” arsa Miċeál óg.
Le n-a linn sin do liuiġ an báiṫteaċán ⁊ do ġlaoiḋ i n-árd a ċínn ’sa ġuṫa ag
