Dúchas na nGael (1858)
Tomás Ua Baíghell, composed in South Gloucester, Ontario
Mo chéad míle slán leat, ‘ fhíoráras na féile!
A shuaircinis aoibhinn! A dhúchais na nGael,
An t-aon rúd ba ghéire, ní scarfadh ó chéile;
Ba tréine na teadhma dá dhaoine bhur ngaol!
Ba fonnmhar bhur léirscrios, achan fáithe saofa,
Ach mheall gaoi a gcroíthe, agus bhasc Dia a mbéal:
Mar bhláth faoi sámh ghréine, tá ‘ríst Éire naofa,
Rath buan agus séanmhar! A dhúchais na nGael!
My hundred thousand farewells to you, oh true abode of generosity!
Oh pleasing, beautiful isle! Oh land of the Gaels,
The one thing more bitter would not separate us from each other;
Stronger the calamity for people of your relations!
Desired was your utter destruction by every crooked sage,
But a lie enticed their hearts, and God crushed their mouths:
Like a flower resting under the sun, Ireland is again saintly,
Perpetual and happy prosperity! Oh land of the Gaels!
Do chrioslach glas, loghmhar, an mórmhuir sínghlórach,
Ag rugadh gach taoma, ‘s ag úrú do ghné;
Mar shean-nasc réaltsheoideach, fá rí-bhrat úr órach,
Ag naomhú go caoin, is ag cumhdú ó chlé!
Ní buan anba nimhrud, ná dúracht, ná saíocht,
Mar éalaíonn lá grianmhar, gach sláin agus néil,
Téann i ndeaghaidh a céile, le fíorbhrí do naofacht!
Rath buan agus séanmhar! A dhúchais na nGael!
Your grey, precious bosom the storm-voiced sea,
Birthing each water flow, and refreshing your form;
As an old, star-jewelled necklace, under a new, golden kingly cloak,
Gently sanctifying, and protecting from evil!
No poisonous thing is permanent, nor dullness, nor mastery,
As flees from the sunny day every challenge and confusion,
They go one after another, with the true power of your sanctity!
Perpetual and happy prosperity! Oh land of the Gaels!
Do chluainte, do ghleannta, do choillte dlúthscáfar,
Is bíonn sa ngeimhreadh b’ann éanlacht ó trá;
Le deoraí gan áras, nach caoin, fáilteach, bámhar,
Do chlann flaithiúil, oirirc, a dhúchais na suadh!
Do bhantracht fíor-álainn, is glan, ionraic, mómhar;
Mar dhrúcht glas maidine, so-chruinn ar bhláth fial,
Nó sámhchumhracht samhraidh, nó meas maothmhar fómhair;
Rath buan agus séanmhar! A dhúchais na nGael!
Your meadows, your glens, your thickly shaded woods,
And where in the winter are birds from the strand;
With an exile without abode, isn’t it gentle, welcoming, sympathetic,
Your princely children, illustrious, of land of the learned!
Your truly beautiful women, pure, upright, dignified;
As grey morning dew, perfectly shaped on a noble flower,
Or the soft fragrance of summer, or the tender fruit of autumn;
Perpetual and happy prosperity! Oh land of the Gaels!
Mar éiríonn lá dealrach, iar dorcadas oíche,
Mar shamhraíonn an t-earrach, iar gheimhreadh dubh, dian,
Mar shuaimhníonn an mórmhuir iar anfa na gaoithe,
Tá naomhfhola á dúiseacht ó thromshuan ba chian!
Is d’ainneoin na Sacsan, tá sliocht mar dairbhile,
Á daingniú sa talamh, ‘s á leathnú gan baol!
Gach bua leat, a mháthair na laoch is na bhfile
Rath buan agus séanmhar! A dhúchais na nGael!
As the bright day rises, after the darkness of night,
As the spring blossoms, after a dark, harsh winter,
As the ocean quiets after a tempest of wind,
The saintly blood is awakening from a deep slumber most long!
And in spite of the Saxons, the people are as a sacred oak tree,
Fortifying into the ground, and spreading without danger!
Every victory to you, oh mother of the heroes and the poets
Perpetual and happy prosperity! Oh land of the Gaels!
For citation, please use: Ua Baíghell, Tomás. 1858. “Dúchas na nGael.” Ó Dubhghaill, Dónall. 2024. Na Gaeil san Áit Ró-Fhuar. Gaeltacht an Oileáin Úir: www.gaeilge.ca
Adapted from: The Irish American. 1858 (5 Mar). New York: Lynch, Cole & Co. See the original here.
