An Ghaeilge A stirring and long-forgotten poem by Roger Casement

An Ghaeilge

A stirring and long-forgotten poem by Roger Casement, newly translated into Irish by Gabriel Rosenstock

The Irish language
It is gone from the hill and the glen—
The strong speech of our sires;
It is sunk in the mire and the fen
Of our nameless desires:
We have bartered the speech of the Gael
For a tongue that would pay,
And we stand with the lips of us pale
And all bloodless today;
We have bartered the birthright of men
That our sons should be liars.
It is gone from the hill and the glen
The strong speech of our sires.
Like the flicker of gold on the whin
That the Spring breath unites,
It is deep in our hearts and shall win
Into flame where it smites:
It is there with the blood in our veins,
With the stream in the glen,
With the hill and the heath and the weans
They shall think it again;
It shall surge to their lips and shall win
The high road to our rights—
Like the flicker of gold on the whin
That the sun-burst unites.
An teanga Ghaeilge
Do thréig sí an cnoc is an gleann
teanga thréan na sean;
Sa láib di seachas ar an mbeann—
is balbh é ár ngean:
Do dhíolamar teanga na nGael
ar scilling gheal an Rí,
Nach mílítheach é ár mbéal—
is ár mbeola ar easpa brí;
Do dhíolamar ár ndúchas is ár ngreann—
an chonair cham do lean.
Do thréig sí an cnoc is an gleann
teanga thréan na sean.
Mar ór ar an aiteann faoi bhláth
san Earrach mar aon bhladhm amháin
Go domhain inár gcroíthe atá—
lasair an bhua gan cháim:
Sa ghleann ina ritheann sruthán
sa smior is sa smúsach, sa chroí,
In intinn bhíogúil an ógáin
tabharfar beocht do na seansiollaí
A fhógróidh ár gcearta don lá
in aon gheal-ghaisce amháin:
Mar ór ar an aiteann faoi bhláth
faoin ngal gréine gan cháim.
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