There's no flower that e'er bloom'd can my rose excel, Had I power, oh! my lov'd one, but to plead thy right, The mountains, high and misty, thro' the moors must go, The rivers shall run backward, and the lakes overflow; And the wild waves of old ocean wear a crimson hue, Ere the world sees the ruin of my Roisin Dubh. VOL. I. Ek d-tiocfá-sú liom-sá go cúntáé Likthtroim, A Uileckin dhuibh ! bhearáinn-si mil bheách Agus méádh már bhiadh dhur, A uile chin dhuibh ◊ ! Béarfád Kér ná long ná seól 's ná m-bád duit, Faóí bharradhaibh ná d-tom K's sinn ág filleadh an d-tráigh, 'Y ní léigfinn-si Kén bhrón cóídhchedo'd dháil, 'Y zur tú m'Uilekcán dhuh ◊ ! Hi pachaidh me-si leát, K's ní'l máith dhuit do'm Arradh, Al Uilekckin Shuibh ◊ ! Már nách z-coingeóchadh do zhlórtha beódh gán bhiáðh me 2 Uile cáin Shuibh ◊ ! Míle céad fearr liom bheith chóídhche gán feár, ' bheith ag siúbhál An drúchdá s ná bh-fásách lett, Hion ' no chroídhe dhuit grádh ná geán, 'Y ní tú m' Uileácán Dubh ◊ ! UILEACAN DUBH O! BY THOMAS FURLONG. If to Leitrim's green fields thou wilt wander with me Sweet Uileacan Dubh O! Thy cup shall be sweetened with the honey of the bee, My Uileacan Dubh O! There the trees rich and shady shall wave o'er thy head, There the barks shall glide by with their sails gaily spread, There each day as it flies some new blessing shall shed On my Uileacan Dubh O! Oh! what says my dearest! and can she deny me, Sweet Uileacan Dubh O! My words may not win her-but why will she fly me, Sweet Uileacan Dubh O! Oh! think not sweet maiden through life to be free, While in each that beholds thee a slave thou canst see; Oh turn not-oh look not thus coldly on me My Uileacan Dubh O! Chonáirc mé ag teacht chuzám í tré lár An t-sléibhe, Már réiltion thríd An 3-ceídh ; bhidh mé z chínt K's Ag comhrádh léi, Zo n-deáchamáir go Pa̸ire ná m-bó: Shuidheamair-ne fíos Ann lúib An fháil, Go d-tuz mé dhi scríobhthá fa̸oí mo láimh, Ich b-fuil coir d'a̸ n-déanadh sí nách n-íocxáinn & cáin A uile chin dhuibh ◊ ! Mo chreach 's mo chrádh gán mé fáisgthe fíos léi, Air leaba cháol, Árd nó Kir cha̸rnn túíbhe, Al Uile cán Shuibh ! Zan duine Kir bith Knn Eirinn bheith láimh linn Ta 'n-oidhche, Acht Kg sugradh Kgus Kg gáirea̸dh réír már buch mhiann linn, A dhia! nách cruádh án cás é, muna bh-fázháidh # mo mhiann Air an Uilecón Subh ! I saw the fair damsel round the hill slowly bending, My Uileacan Dubh O! Like a joy-giving star thro' the grey mist ascending, Sweet Uileacan Dubh O! I spoke to her gently-I spoke of my pain, I vow'd I protested again and again; On some soft rushy couch with the moon o'er us shining, Sweet Uileacan Dubh O! How blest might I be in the arms of my dear, Where no shape or no sound to disturb us came near; Sweet Uileacan Dubh O! |