Filleaḋ na Féinne
An Craoiḃín Aoiḃinn do Sgríoḃ
Ná bíoḋ droċ-ṁeisneaċ go deó
Ag síor-ċur an ċeó ar ḃur gcroiḋe
Agus siḃ-se ag smuaíneaḋ ’s ag ráḋ,
Go ḃfuil Éire ḃoċt cráiḋte gan ḃríġ.
Atámaoid ag fanaṁaint le fad,
Ag gol gan stad a’s ag caoi,
Ag súil go dtiucfaiḋ an lá
Ḋíbeóras an cráḋ so ḋínn,
A’s go dtiucfaiḋ go goirid an Ḟiann,
An ḃuiḋean nár ġéill do’n Aois,
Agus fásfaiḋ an crann ḃí críon
Fá ḃláṫ agus sgéiṁ arís.
Is goirid go tiucfaiḋ an Ḟiann.
Cad é an dorċadus so ar an spéir? Cad é an duiḃe seo ar an ngréin? Cad é an smúid seó os ár gcionn, ag baint dínn soluis an laé, agus ag ár dtaċtaḋ, tá sí ċoṁ trom sin? Feuċ an néall duḃ ag leaṫnuġaḋ agus ag síor-leaṫnuġaḋ, feuċ é ag cur amaċ ḋá sgiaṫán dé feín mar ṗreáċán mór, ó ṫaoiḃ go taoiḃ na spéire. Cad é? Agus feuċ na daoine ag dorus a dtiġṫeaḋ ag dearcaḋ suas air agus ag osnaoil. Cad fáṫ ḃfuilid ag tarraing a n-anála coṁ trom sin, aṁail agus dá mbeiṫdís d’á múċaḋ. Cad fáṫ a ḃféaċann siad ċoṁ bán ⁊ ċoṁ mí-líṫeaċ sin, mar ḋaoine do ċaill gaċ meisneaċ do ḃí aca, mar ḋaoine atá ag fanaṁaint leis an ḃfairrge d’ eíriġe os a gcionn, nó leis na sleíḃtiḃ do ṫuitim ’na mullaċ? Cad é an sórt spéire í sin, cad é an tír í seó, cia h-iad na daoine?
Óra! a ċaraid mo ċroiḋe, innseóċaiḋ mise sin duit. Ar ṫalam geal na h-Éireann atá tú i d’ ṡeasaṁ, agus sin spéir na h-Éireann os do ċionn, agus sin muinntir na h-Éireann atá ag dorus na dtiġṫeaḋ.
Aċt cad do ḃeir orra féaċaint mar sin, cad fáṫ ḃfuil siad d’á múċaḋ agus da dtaċtaḋ ag rud éigin naċ léir ḋóiḃ, agus cad é an néall áiḋḃéal duḃ sin os a gcionn?
Is é an néall do ċíḋ tú atá d’á múċaḋ, tá siad taċtṫa ag an aér ó’n néall sin. Aṁail preáċán mór duḃ, atá an néall sin agus a ḋá sgiaṫán sínte amaċ aige eidir sinn ⁊ solus na gréine beannuiġṫe agus é ag séideaḋ neiṁe as a ġob, ag baint a n-aigne agus a meisniġ de na daoiniḃ agus ag cur ceó agus fuaċta ar a gcroiḋe.
Cia h-é an draoiḋeaċta tug cúṁaċt do’n ṗréaċán an níḋ sin do ḋéanaṁ?
Innseóċaiḋ mé sin duit. Sin spiorad na Sacsanaċ, sin an Béarlaċas. Tá an ġrian múċta aige, tá an spéir fuaraiġṫe aige, tá an solus díbirte aige, ⁊ is é do sgap an ceó agus an tsioc ar ċroiḋṫiḃ na ndaoine boċt atá indiú ar ṫalaṁ ḟód-ġlas na h-Éireann. Do ḃí uair, ann, agus do lonnruiġ an ġrian ċoṁ geal agus ċoṁ teiġ, os cionn na tíre seó agus do lonnruiġ sí os cionn aon tíre dá’r ṗóg sí ariaṁ. Do ḃí uair, ann, a raiḃ an spéir seo ċoṁ glan agus ċoṁ geal sin agus ḃain sí gáir lúṫġáire as na daoiniḃ le teann-áṫas iad do ḃeiṫ beó fúiṫi. Do ḃí uair, ann, a raiḃ meisneaċ agus mórṁeanma, aigeantaċt agus árd-inntleaċt in sna daoiniḃ sin, atá anois ċoṁ truaiġṁéileaċ agus ċoṁ lagḃríġeaċ sin. Ṫáinig aṫruġaḋ orra agus feuċ anois.
Agus innsim duit an ḟírinne munar h-innseaḋ ḋuit riaṁ go dtí seó í. Tá an bóġa déanta ċeana a gcuirfeas mac máṫar éigin urċar, leis, tríd an bpréaċán úr-ġránna neiṁneaċ do rinne an díoġḃáil sin agus do ḃain dínn teas na gréine.
Adeirim leat go ḃfeicim an lá ag teaċt, nuair ḃéideas ruaig ar an dá sgiaṫán duḃ sin, ⁊ tógfaiḋ na daoine atá leaṫ-ṁarḃ agus leaṫ-ṁúċta, a gcinn arís, agus mórán aca do ṫeiċ go tíorṫaiḃ a ḃfad ṫar sáile, le dul ó anál marḃṫaċ bréan an éin ṁóir sin, fillfiḋ siad arís, agus cóṁnóċaiḋ siad go socair sásta ameasg a gcáirde agus a ngaoil. Agus tiucfaiḋ árd-ṁeanma agus meisneaċ mór ar ais arís ameasg na ndaoine, agus tuigfiḋ arís na daoine nár ṫuig, agus léiġfiḋ arís na daoine nár léiġ, agus sgríoḃfaiḋ na daoine nár sgríoḃ, agus déanfaiḋ gníoṁarṫa na daoine naċ ndearnaiḋ gníoṁ riaṁ, oibreóċaiḋ na daoine nár oibriġ, planndóċaiḋ na daoine nar ṗlanndaiġ, fásfaiḋ na daoine nár ḟás, meaḃróċaiḋ na daoine nár ṁeaḃraiġ, cuiṁneóċaiḋ na daoine do ḋearmad, agus na daoine do ḃí ag gol béiḋ siad ag gáire, na daoine ḃí na dtost cuirfiḋ siad liúġ asta. Seasfaiḋ muinntir na tíre seó arís gan slaḃra ar ċorp ná ar anam, ċoṁ saor agus ḃíodar ariaṁ, i láṫair Dé agus na ndaoine. Agus ní fada uainn an t-am sin, ‘Is goirid go ḃfillfiḋ an Ḟiann.’
The Return of the Fenians
An Craoibhín Aoibhinn wrote:
Do not be discouraged for ever,
Putting anxiety and a mist on your heart,
And you thinking and saying
That poor Ireland will be destroyed without help.
It is a long time we are waiting,
Weeping without ceasing, and keening,
With the hope that the day will come at last
That the pain will be taken from us,
That it is short until the coming of the Fenians.
What is this darkness on the sky? What is this blackness on the sun? What is this mist overhead, robbing us of daylight, choking us with its weight? Look at the dark cloud getting wider and larger, look at it putting out two wings like a great crow from one side of the sky to the other. What is it? And look at the people at the doors of their houses looking up and sighing. What makes them draw their breaths so heavily, as if they were smothering? Why do they look so pale and so joyless, like people who have lost all the courage they had, like people waiting for the sea to rise over their heads, or the mountains to fall on them. What sort of a sky is that, what country is that, what people are those?
Ah! friend of my heart, it is I that will tell you; that is the bright country of Ireland in which you are standing, and that is the Irish sky over your head, and those are the people of Ireland that stand at the door of their houses!
But what has come on them that they should look like this? Why are they being choked and smothered by something they cannot see, and what is that great black cloud overhead?
It is that cloud which is choking them; they are smothered by the blast of that cloud; that cloud is like the great black wings of a crow stretched out between us and the blessed light of the sun, and he breathing poison from his beak to snatch away the minds and the courage of the people, and to put fog and cold into their hearts?
Is it a sorcerer the crow is, to be able to do this thing?
I will tell you what it is. It is the English mind, it is the Englishing of Ireland. The sky is smothered by it and the sun is chilled by it, the light is driven away by it, and it is it that has cast the fog and frost on the hearts of the poor people who live to-day on the grass-green sod of Ireland. There was a day when the sun shone as bright and as warm on our country as on any country that He ever kissed. There was a day when this sky was so pure and so bright that the people could not but laugh with the dint of joy, they to be living under it. There was a day once when there was courage and great gladness, strength and high-mindedness in the people, who are now so pitiable and so discouraged. A change came on them, and look at what they are now!
And I tell you the truth, if you were never told the truth till now, that the bow is already made, with which some mother’s son will put an arrow through that monstrous, poisonous crow that did us this harm, and that took the warmth of the sun from us. * * *
And he will go away drivelling, shedding heavily his share of blood, and he will be putting out a thousand cries and a thousand ochones! I will tell you that I see the day coming when those dark wings will be hunted away, and the people that are half-dead and half-smothered will hold up their heads again and many of those who went far beyond the sea, to escape from the foul breath of that great crow, will return again, and will live in quiet and in content among their friends and their kindred. And gladness and high courage will be among us again, and the people who have no understanding will understand, and the people that have no learning will learn, and the people that could not write will be writing, and the people will perform feats that never performed one, and the people that did not work will be working, and the people that did not plant will be planting, and the people that did not grow will be growing, and the people that never thought will be thinking, and the people that had forgotten will remember, and the people that are crying will be laughing, and the people that were not wise will be full of wisdom, and the people that were hushed will be shouting.
They will stand without chains on body or mind, free in the presence of God and the people. And this time is not far off. It is a short time till the coming of the Fenians.