Irisleabhar na Gaedhilge/Imleabhar 5/Uimhir 9/Aithbheodhughadh na Gaedhilge

by Pádraig Stúndún

[ 130 ]

AIṪḂEOḊUĠAḊ NA GAEḊILGE.

[ 130 ] Ní suairc mar ḋuain liom marḃ-rann, Is fuaṫ liom fuaim a faoḋ’ ’sa fonn, Ní ġráiḋfinn duara i ḃfuiġliḃ fuara, Ná laoiḋte buaḋarṫa Gaeḋilge.	[ 131 ]To me an elegy is not a pleasant poem; I hate the sound of its wailing and its tune; I would not love metres in cold words, Nor sorrowful lays of Gaelic.
[ 130 ] Níor smuaineas riaṁ go dtiocfaḋ am Go riṫfeaḋ uaill ó’n uaiġ trém’ ċeann, Ag innsin doṁ-sa gur múċaḋ lóċrann Nó lasair leois na Gaeḋilge.	[ 131 ]I never thought that a time would come, When a cry from the grave should pierce my head, Telling me that quenched was the lamp, Or the flaming light of Gaelic.
[ 130 ] Mo náire! a Éire, ’ċaill do ċlú! O! cá ’r ġaḃ do “ṁór is fiú”? Nár ṡeasaiṁ lei go daingean dlúṫ, Ag cló-ḃeaṫuġaḋ na Gaeḋilge.	[ 131 ]My shame! Ireland, that has lost thy fame! O whither has gone thy great self-esteem ? That stood not by it firmly, closely, Print-nourishing the Gaelic.
[ 130 ] Ní ċluinim gíog ó eun i gcás, Tá ’n smólaċ ciuin ar ċraoiḃ de ġnás, Le hóg a’s aosda is céasnaḋ bás As dteangan ársa Gaeḋilge.	[ 131 ]I hear not a chirp from a bird in a cage, The thrush is ever silent on a bough! To young and old a calamity is the death Of our ancient language, Gaelic.
[ 130 ] Aċt Éireannaiġ, ní heug a bás! Tá Phœnix buacaċ buaḋaċ ag fás Ó’n luaiṫreaḋ annsa, do lasfaiḋ lampa Ar n-agaill ṡeanda Gaeḋilge.	[ 131 ]But, Irishmen, not death is its dying! A proud victorious Phœnix is growing From the dear dust, that shall light the lamp Of our ancient speech, Gaelic.
[ 130 ] Gráḋ mo ċroiḋe ar dteanga féin! Beiḋ sí fós go hárd i gcéim, Beiḋ bean a’s páisde ag taḃairt páirt’ di— A’s “Óig-ḟir,” gráiḋiḋ-si Gaeḋilg. Pádraig Stúndún.	[ 131 ]Love of my heart, our own tongue! It shall yet be high in rank; Woman and child will hold it dear, And Young Men, do you also love Gaelic.