“Deirim,” ars’ an fear eile, “go ḃfuil an ġaoṫ ag ionntráil.”[1]
“Is miṫid di soin,” arsa Doṁnall, “mara ḃfuil fonn uirri luiġe ċun guir ar fad ’san áird i n-a ḃfuil sí le breis ⁊ coigṫiḋeas—Is dóiġ liom,” ars’ eisean arís, ṫar éis stad tamall ⁊ feuċaint i n’(-a) ṫimċeall, “go ḃfanfad seal eile, dá dtuiteaḋ an bolg asam le hocras ⁊ le híotain, ⁊ is é mo ṫuairim naċ fada eile uaḋ anois ⁊ cá misde ḋó—cad eile atá le deunaṁ aige?”
Do sceart[2] gaċ n-aon ar ġáiríḋ iar gclos an ráiḋ se ḋóiḃ.
“Cogar, a Ḋiarmaid,” ars’ eisean le Diarmaid Mac Aṁlaoiḃ, ag breiṫ ar ḃrollaċ léineaḋ air, ⁊ ag a ṫaḃairt leis ar fód faoi leiṫ—[3]
“Cad is gnó agat díom?”[4] arsa Diarmaid.
“Ní’l aon ġnó i n-aon ċor,” ars’ eisean, “aċt an mbeiḋeaḋ leaṫ-seaċ agat i dtóin do ṗíopa? Atáim seiṫte[5]—ag dul as mo ċroiceann, a ḋuine! de ċeal[6] aon seaċ[7] aṁáin, fad ṫug Dia lá ḋam.”[8]
(Tuilleaḋ).
Nótaiḋe.
- ↑ ionntráil = aṫruġaḋ.
- ↑ do sceart = d’éiġ.
- ↑ ar fód faoi leiṫ = i leaṫ-taoiḃ.
- ↑ Cad is gnó agat díom? = Cad é an gnó atá agat díom? = Cad do b’áil leat díom? (Feic N. 13).
- ↑ seiṫte no seiġte = taḃarṫa, tnáiṫte [jaded (?)].
- ↑ de ċeal = d’easbaiḋ.
- ↑ seaċ = gal.
- ↑ fad ṫug Dia lá ḋam = feaḋ an lae = do riṫ an lae uile. Is gointe ⁊ is géire i ḃfad ’s i ḃfad an céad ráḋ ná ceaċtar do’n ḃeirt eile.
deiri = ’deirir’ i leaḃraiḃ.
mar a ḃí aige = ’san móḋ i n-a raiḃ sé; mar a raiḃ aige = san áit i n-a raiḃ sé.
Feannaid = peandáit .i. pianáit.
an Fear Mór = an diaḃal.
Cad dob’ áil liḃ annso? = Cad is gnó abaiġ ’san áit seo?
an oiread eile = an ċoṁḟaid ċéadna.
pioc dá ḃárr = aonniḋ dá ṡoċar.
dá raġaḋ an saoġal i dtóin na fuiseoige: is ait ⁊ is ainċneasta an ráḋ é seo, ⁊ ní mó ná maiṫ do ṫuiġim cionnus do ṫáinig se ċun na céille atá air láiṫreaċ do ḃeiṫ air. Is ionann é ⁊ cibé niḋ do ṫiocfaiḋ as dam; cibé rud—maiṫ no olc, ⁊ is cuma liom cia ’ca—is tagṫa as dam.
spreuċaḋ, ag léim mar ḃeiḋeaḋ mion-splannaċa as iarann dearg ’nauir buailfiḋe leis an órd ar an inneoin é; spriúċaḋ, caiṫeaṁ, caiṫeaṁ capaill nó múla.
tois = toirt = méid.
ag breiṫ suas = beag naċ ag roċtain.
foíġne nó foidne = foiġid = fad-ḟualaing.
splínc = carraig ġéar ġarḃ.
níor leóṁta d’aonneaċ = níor láṁṫa d’aonneaċ [láṁaim = leigim].
Barra taoide = barr-taoide, uaċtar taoide, uaċtar na mara.
Tógaint = tógḃáil
LITERAL TRANSLATION.
A great many people were once taking sea-weed in Briantraigh, near Eyries. There was a great draw by the sea, and a great lot of sea-weed on the surface of the tide, but no one dared to come near it. All the people were on the splinceachs watching to have it come in, but the more patient their watching and waiting, the more the sea-weed remained as it was, rocking near the shore, now all but reaching the place (or to be more literal bearing up on the place) where the people were sitting or standing, the moment after, a wave—the size of a hill—used to come, ploughing and strong-moving, breaking on the reefs, taking sound and clamour out of stone and crag, or breaking into spray and dashing, putting white foam upon the green sward.
“I won’t stay any longer here,” says Donal O’Kelly, “let matters come to whatever pass they will. I am here since the middle of last night, without having a jot gained by it, and the devil of me, if I stay as long again, like a fool, and my poor stomach struck on my backbone. What do you want here?” says he to the others who were in his company.
“The sea-weed will shortly come in, boy,” says Pierce Power;” we will have all of it, and you without it, fighting with the nails of your feet, since you didn’t stay, that is if you are on the point of going away home.”
“May the Big Man take the sea-weed,” says Teig Beg, “for it is we are eaten up by torture and torment from being waiting here in cold and weary pain.”
“The wind is changing and the sea growing calm,” says Patrick O’Lynch.
“What is that thou sayest?” says Donal O’Kelly, putting an ear on himself (= all ears).
“I say,” says the other man, “that the wind is changing.”
“It is time for it,” says Donal, “unless it intends to lie to hatching altogether in the point in which it is for a fortnight and more. I believe,” says he again, after stopping for a while and looking around him, “that I will stay for another spell, even if the stomach fall out of me with hunger and thirst, and it is my opinion that it is not far rom it now, and what harm is it for it—what else has it to do?”
Everyone burst out laughing on their hearing this.
“Whisper, Dermot,” says he to Dermot MacAuliffe, catching him by the front of the shirt and bringing him aside with him—
