A fhíorchlanna Gaeil Glais dhon tsaorfhuil ba chalma, laochas a ndearg túis baoil

Oh true green Gaels of free blood most brave, of true valour at dangers start

Aréir im luí dhom go tréith, lag, sínte ag déanamh smaoineadh ar néaltaibh suain

Last night lying feebly, weak, stretched thinking while having a small rest

A Ghaeilic mhín mhilis! a bhinnghuth na hÉireann! Nach brónach faoi theidhm thú! nach sochtach, nach cian!

Oh smooth, gentle Gaelic! Oh melodious voice of Ireland! Aren’t you sorrowful under pestilence! Isn’t it deeply emotional, isn’t it sad!

A Ghaeilic mhín mhilis! a bhinnghuth na hÉireann! Nach brónach faoi theidhm thú! nach sochtach, nach cian!

Oh smooth, gentle Gaelic! Oh melodious voice of Ireland! Aren’t you sorrowful under pestilence! Isn’t it deeply emotional, isn’t it sad!

Is trua gan mhis’ i m’eala, do ghluaisfinnse abhaile

It is a pity I am not a swan, I would travel home

In a future notice we may treat of other mythological and historical names in our ancient history; at present we will briefly consider the Ogham Inscription published in the Dublin Nation, of the 14th of May, 1859.

Mo chéad míle slán leat, ‘ fhíoráras na féile! A shuaircinis aoibhinn! A dhúchais na nGael

Fare thee well, twenty thousand times, land of the Gael! Wherein pleasure and plenty with welcome were found

If ever there was a great national object, deserving the attention, sympathies and substantial support of Irishmen, it is the preservation of the remains of their history and language. One of the richest historical and literary mines of Christian, and, I may also add, of Pagan Europe, remains still unexplored in Ireland.

Is bímse tnútháil le só na gréine, á ghabhas siar tharam go beag-Árainn

And I envy the ease of the sun, passing back over me to little Aran

Faoin ár gcuan tháinig deoraí bocht, brónach as Éirinn, Ba trom earraí éadrom le drúcht fras, fuar;

To our harbour, a poor, sad exile came from Ireland, The meager goods were heavy with sprinkling, cold dew;

Cé cian, dubh, mo dheoraíocht fillfidh mo theidhin, Go mór-aonach Fodhla, le ceol agus laoi;

Though distant, dark, my exile, my mind will return, To the great assembly of Ireland, with music and poetry;

Is it not painful and unaccountable that Inis Fail alone should still remain without the master-mind of history, to tell her story in a truthful and native spirit, and present her with becoming dignity in her emerald robes and unfading beauty, seated sorrowfully in her sea-girt sanctuary, the freshly fairest, tho’ the most persecuted of the daughters of the ocean.

If ever there was a great national object, deserving the attention, sympathies and substantial support of Irishmen, it is the preservation of the remains of their history and language. One of the richest historical and literary mines of Christian, and, I may also add, of Pagan Europe, remains still unexplored in Ireland.

Transcribed by me J. Rd. From an Ancient Christian Doctrine In the year of our Lord God One Thousand Eight Hundred & Fifteen

D’imídís ag iascach trosc ann agus thugaidís dhá bhiaiste ann, cuid acu.

They would go fishing cod there and they would spend two fishing-seasons there, some of them.

Transcribed by me J. Rd. From an Ancient Christian Doctrine In the year of our Lord God One Thousand Eight Hundred & Fifteen

Bhí dhá fhear ann aon uair amháin, agus smaoinigh siad go rachadh siad ‘un Oileán Úir.

here were two men once, and they thought that they would go to the New World.

Bhí tiarna talún ann fadó, agus bhí buachaill aimsire aige darb ainm Seán Ó Baoill.

There was a landlord long ago, and he had a hired boy servant by the name of Seán Ó Baoill.

Tá cnuic is gleannta Éireann ag dul ó léargas orm agus béidh go deo

The hills and glens of Ireland are fading from my sight and will be forever

Rinne mé smaointiú in mo intinn is lean mé dó go cinnte

I made a decision in my mind and I certainly followed it