Imatges de pÓgina

Go mairfiñ a ndiaiż Naoise,
Na saoili neaċ air talian,
No andraig Windle agus Ardain,
Anm ni bia jonṁun.

Na ndiaiġ ni bu beo miri,
Is ar leor liom fad mo beata,
O cuajo mo leañan uaimsi
Do dean air uaiże ceata.

A fir a żoċlas an feartan,
Na déan an uaiṁ go docraċ,
Biadsa a brocair na huaiże,
Deanad truaige agus oċain.

A ttri sgiata, sa ttri sleaża,
Fa leabajd dojb go minic;
Cuir na tri claidṁe cruaide
Os a ccioñ san uaiż, a ġiolla.

A ttri ccoin, sa ttri seabaic, Biad feasta gan luċd sealga, Triar congbala caża,

Triar dalta Conail Cearnaiż.

Tri hialla na dtri ccoin sin,
Do buain osna as mo ċroide,
Is agum do biod a dtaisge,
A bfeicsin is fa caoj é.

Ni rabas arjaṁ um aonar,
Aċd la deanta bur nuaiże
Gid minic do bi sibse,
Agus misi san uaignios.

Do cuaid mo radarc uaimri, Air bfeicsin huaiże a Naoise Ir geam go bfuigfe manam me, Ni mairioñ mo luċt caointe.

Think not that I will survive my love. Ainli and Ardan, I desire not life when you are gone.

Life has no charms now for me.

My days are already too many. Delight of my soul, a shower of tears shall fall upon your grave.

Ye men that dig their grave, prepare it wide and deep. I will rest on the bosom of my love. My sighs and groans will go

with me to the tomb.

Often were the shields and spears their bed. Lay their strong swords by their heads in the grave.

Their dogs, their hawks,-who will attend them now? The hunters are no more on their hills; the valiant youths of Connal Cairni.

My heart groans to see the collars of their hounds; often did I feed them, but now I weep when they draw near.

Though many times we traversed the solitary waste, I knew no solitude, until the day that your grave was prepared.

My sight begins to fail, when I see thy grave, my Næsa. My life will soon depart, and the voice of my mourners be heard

no more.

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As she concluded her lamentations, she sprung into the grave, and, on the breast of Næsa, expired.

Thus ends one of the finest wrought tales, founded on original history, that is to be met with in any language. Should these short extracts excite attention, or awaken curiosity, the whole will soon be published; and a succession of similar pieces, from ancient Irish manuscripts, will be prepared, with translations, to come forward from the unmerited oblivion in which they are now fast mouldering to decay.


The following literal translation of the poem, which is printed. at the conclusion of Neilson's Grammar, with the critical notes, was supplied by a young friend, who has devoted himself with much praiseworthy ardour to the study of our national literature. The Editor, in professing to give the public a reprint of Dr. Neilson's work, did not feel himself authorized to make any alteration in it, but the following translation is absolutely necessary to enable the student to understand the original poem :

Dear to me that Eastern land,*
Alba, with its wonders,

From which I never would depart,
Had I not come with Næsa.

Dear is Dunfay and Dunfin,

And dear is the Dun above them;
Dear is Innis Drayon too,

And dear is Dunsuibhne.

Oh, Cullcuan !-oh Cullcuan!

Where Aindle and Ardan would resort,+

Too short there was my stay,

And that of Næsa, in the west of Alba.

The article is here substituted in place of the possessive pronoun; for if the pronoun be used, the leading letter of in should be eclipsed according to rule the 4th, page 88, and will mean our country or land.

+ This line is evidently a corruption; for, as it stands at present, it is almost unintelligible. According to the edition of the Gaelic Society, in 1808, it is "gus ttigead Aindle, mo nuar," Whither, alas! Aindle would resort.'

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Vale of Laith! oh, vale of Laith!
There beneath soft coverlets I slept ;*
Fish, venison, and prime of badger,
Was my repast in the vale of Laith.

Vale of Massan! oh, vale of Massan!
High its hart's tongue, fair its paths, †
In it we enjoy'd a rocking sleep,
Over the grassy harbour of Massan.

Vale of Eithe! oh, vale of Eithe!
There was my first dwelling rais'd;
Beauteous its woods, upon rising,

Resort of the sun is the vale of Eithe.

Oh! vale of Archan! oh! vale of Archan!
It was the straight valley of smooth ridge;
A man of his age was not more sprightly
Than my Naesa, in the valley of Archan.

Oh! vale of Daruadh! vale of Daruadh!
My love to each man to whom it is hereditary;
Sweet is the Cuckoo's note on each bending bough,
On the summit o'er the vale of Daruadh.

Dear is Drayno, and its resounding shore-
Dear its waters flowing o'er pure sand;
Never would I have departed from thence
Had I not come with him I loved.

* Translate soft coverlets instead of shady thickets, which wan ders a little too far from the text.

This is here translated, "Fair its paths," which seems to agree better with her description of the vale of Massan than geal a-gasain, meaning "white its little stalks."

This is a beautiful simile, when understood, which is very difficult from the way it is written in Irish, for the literal meaning, according to the text, would be ridiculous; but if buajle, which signifies a resort, or any place of shelter, be substituted in place of bualao, the present participle of the verb buail, to strike, the meaning will be easily understood, and elegant; Deardra compares the Vale of Eithe to a buaile, where the sun loved to linger from its rising till it set. This word, buaile, is used at present, for the place where cattle are driven for shelter and change of pasture.

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