D’Aithle na bhFile (17ú hAois)

Dáibhí Ó Bruadair

D’aithle na bhfile n-uasal,

Trua-san timpeall an tsaoil

Clann na n-ollamh go n-eagna

Folamh gan freagra faobhair.

Trua a leabhair ag liata

Tiachóga nach treabhair baoise

Ar ceal níor chóir i bhfolachas

Toircheas bhfear n-óil na gaoise

D’aithle na bhfile dár ionnús éigse is iúl

Is mairg do chonaic an chinniúint d’éirigh dúinn

A leabhair ag titim i leimhe ‘s is léithe i gcúil

‘S ag mic na droinge gan siolla dá séada rún.

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After the end of the noble poets,

That pity around the world;

The children of learned ones

Have empty minds without sharp retorts.

A pity is their books greying,

Satchels that did not cultivate stupidity

Disused and wrongly forgotten,

Born of wisdom-drinkers’ minds.

After the poets rich in learning and knowledge

It is a sorrow to see the destiny for us

Their books left impotent and grey in corners

And the sons of the throng have not a syllable of their secret treasures