WELCOME TO CAROLAN.

AN ODE, BY JAMES COURTNEY,1

TRANSLATED BY THOMAS FURLONG, ESQ.

Oh! millions of welcomes for thee,

Chosen bard of the fair and free,

From the mansion of Meavè2 thou comest in pride To where Orgial's flow'ry fields3 spread wide, Dear to Cuchullin, that dreaded name,

Bright and high in the rolls of fame.

If Connor still in Emania reign'd
Brilliant would be thy cheer,

Long would the sacred gem be retain❜d,
High priz'd and precious, and dear.

All Ulster upon its beauty might gaze,
And the land be bless'd by its scattering rays.

The four Nials of Tarah's embattled pile,"

Con and Cormac of regal birth,

Would not give up the prize, the pride of the Isle,

To the proudest foe upon earth.

Oh! glorious and great in the tented field

Must the monarch be who might make them yield.

Carbunc«il Teamhrá ná d-triáth ;

Maigneis Ulkidh na n-dea̸rg-sciáth ;

Orpheus chláinne Chátha̸óír ó dhea̸s,

A's mea̸dha̸ir ná h-Eóppá gán chómhmeks.

Geall ceóil ó'n n-Asia̸ n-oir

Go Torrdhealbhách Anois do ráinic ;
Prionnsa̸ n« n«óí Músá fá mheás

Do shealbhuigh Kir d-tús Párn«ssus.

Zach duine sheinneás fá a̸ luídhea̸nn grian,
Is dá n-Kirmhínn go muir d-Toirria̸n ;

◊ Thoirdhealbhách do gheibh 'ná láimh,

A n-KoíbhneKs, A n-ór 's A n-a̸rán.

An t-Abhrán,

TA An t-Arán ʼn « láimh go bás má sheinnid le céill,

Gach folla d'ʼn d-tug Ktháir ná n-grás d'Olldhámh ná

d-réud;

An cum<dóir Krd-so sha̸ruigh An chruinne le céim,

'Y bá chubháidh dho fáilte bhárr Air dhá mhiliún déucc.

Rich jewel art thou of old Temor, of kings,
Darling of Ulster of red red shields-"

Where's he who like thee can strike the strings?
Where is the voice that such music yields?

Bard of Clan Cahir, the race renown'd,

Light of our isle, and the isles around.

The prize of harmony's sent from afar,
My Turlogh that prize is thine,

It comes from Apollo, the old world's star,
The guide of the sacred Nine:

And each bard that wanders o'er earth and sea,
Seems proud to learn new lays from thee.

Oh! yes! from thee, thou son of the song,
Full many a strain may they borrow,

'Tis thine in their mirth to entrance the throng,
Or to sooth the lone heart of sorrow :
Then welcome to Orgial's flowery fields,

Thou darling of Ulster of red red shields.

Maire Mazuidhir.
Cearbhallán ró chán.

Mo leun 's mo chrádh zán mé 's mo ghrídh,
A n-gleanntán Kluinn sléibhe;

Gán neach d'ar g-cáirde bheith le fágháil,
'Kit Kir bith 'n ár n-ga̸obhár Ann :
Pígh ná n‐grás, cá nídh dhámh tráchtádh ort,
A chiúin-bhea̸n náireách, bhéusách ?

'S gur b'é do ghrádh-sa̸ tá tré mo la̸r

'YA sha̸íghiottáibh chráidhte, ghéurá !

Is moch Kir maidin, do zhlukiseAs An Ainxhiri, Agus A cúilín Ag casadh léithi,

Már rófá drithleán tá sgéimh An leinbh,

A's zách ball di Kg teachd le chéile; A táébh mar an g-criosdal, A béilín meala. dar liom, budh bhinne 'ná guth téuda, Y'éimh a leaca, A bra̸gha̸id már An eala,

A's A GruKdh Kiri dháth ná g-cáop-chon.

Oh! that my love and I

From life's crowded haunts could fly
To some deep shady vale by the mountain,

Where no sound might make its way,
Save the thrush's lively lay,

And the murmur of the clear-flowing fountain

Where no stranger should intrude

On our hallow'd solitude,

Where no kinsman's cold glance could annoy us;

Where peace and joy might shed

Blended blessings o'er our bed,

And love! love! alone still employ us.

Still sweet maiden may I see,

That I vainly talk of thee,

In vain in lost love I lie pining,

I may worship from afar,

The beauty-beaming star,

That o'er my dull pathway keeps shining;