dan direach, and launched into an easy stream of verse with the freedom of Coleridge in his Christabel, or of Tennyson in his May Queen.
“Even under the rigid rules of their classic metres, the Irish poets, trained to compose in these metres with ease, could produce poetry of no mean merit. I will conclude with an attempt to render in English verse the sense and spirit of a portion of one such poem. The subject is the Curragh of Kildare, in Irish Cuirreach Lifi, one of the least likely scenes in Ireland, one would say, to inspire a poet’s enthusiasm. The poem is addressed to Saint Brighid of Kildare:—
Full be the strain, victorious Bride!
By Liffey’s tide that seeks the shore;
The princess thou mid battled bands
That rules the clans of Cathair Môr.
’Twere long to tell in every time
God’s high design towards Eiré’s Isle;
Though pleasant Liffey now is thine,
Full many a lord it owned erewhile.
The noble Curragh stretches wide
From Liffey’s side a spreading ring;
Each knoll its proper hue can claim,
So his own fame hath every king.”
AN CRAOIḂÍN AOIḂINN cct.
An ċeud lá riaṁ casaḋ mé léiṫe
I lár mo ċléiḃe ċuaiḋ an ṗian,
Agus facas daṁsa ṫar mnáiḃ na h-Éireann
Gur ḃ’í mo spéirḃean mo ċuid ’s mo ṁian.
O ṫeaċt ’n-a láṫair tá m’ anam cráiḋte
Tá m’ aḃráin caillte, tá mé gan greann,
D’ḟág sí mo ċroiḋe-se mar ṡráid gan
táiṫiġe
Teampoll naċ dtagann poball ann.
Dá mbeiḋinn ’s mo ċeud-ṡearc ar lár an
t-sléiḃe
Gaoṫ o’n spéir ann, a’s sneaċta bán,
Go dtiuḃrainn dídion dom’ uan ó’n tsíon
Luaċ ní iarrfainn aċt póg aṁáin.
Tá an ḃean mar iasgaire le n-a líne
Ag gaḃáil na gcroiḋe bocṫ isteaċ ’na
bád,
Agus ḃeirim mo ṁallaċt amaċ óm’ anam
Do’n té naċ seaċnann cluainte mná.
’NUAIR NAĊ MAIRFIḊ DE’N TÉ SIN A D’AḊRUIĠ ṪÚ TRAṪ.
Aisdriġṫe ó Ṡacsḃeurla Ṫomáis Ui Ṁórḋa, le “Pádraic.”
’Nuair naċ mairfiḋ de’n té sin a d’aḋruiġ
ṫú tráṫ
Aċt a ḃróin ’gus a loċta aṁáin,
O! abair a gcaoinfir má ċaiṫfear aon
sgáṫ
Air an m-beaṫa ná’r ṡaoṫruiġ do ċáin?
Seaḋ, gol, aċt beiḋ maslaḋ mo náṁad go
léir
’Ga ṫógḃáil le deóraiḃ do léin,
Óir má’s cionntaċ mé leó-san, in d’aṁgar
ro-ġeur
Ḃí mé dílis a g-cóṁnuiḋe ḋuit féin.
Do ḃí brionglóide m’óige ort féin a’s do
ċás;
Ḃí mo ḋian-smuainte leat-sa gaċ lá,
In mo ḃás-urnuiġe uṁail do Ḋia na ngrás,
Béiḋ do ċaoṁ-ainm liom-sa ’ga ráḋ.
O! naċ seunṁar na cáirde a ṁairfeas ’san
tsaoġal
Le feicsint do ġlóire ro-ṁóir’:
Aċt tar éis sin ní’l beannaċt níos dílse
do Ġaoḋal
Ná a ḃás air do ṡon-sa, a stóir!
CORK IRISH.
MIĊEÁL NA BUILE.
C. A Ṁiċíl, airiú, cár ġaḃais ċuġainn no cár ċaiṫis an aimsir le corruiġeaċt agus fiċe bliaḋain?
M. Ḃiḋeas i nGleann na nGealt, a Ċáit.
C. Agus cad a ċuir a ḃaile ṫu?
M. An t-uaigneas, ṁaise.
C. An ḃfuil an áit sin a ḃfad ó ḃaile?
M. Ḃíḋeas ag siuḃlóid ar feaḋ seaċtṁaine sul ar ṡroiseas é, agus tá seaċtṁain agus breis ó d’ḟágas é.
C. Cad é an saġas baill é, a Ṁiċíl?
