From The Irish Review, January 1913.
Aonar ḋaṁsa eidir ḋaoiniḃ,
atú anoċt go neaṁḟaoiliġ:
am aonarán a ccionn ċáiġ,
‘s ionn gan aoḃarán d’faġáil.
Ní ṫuig mé an luċt so ag laḃra,
gá dtá ar tteanga ṁáṫarḋa:
ar n’aos aiṫniġ ní léir linn,
ṁ ‘aiṫġin féin ó naċ faicim.
Ionann liom gaċ longṗort lán
is uaigneas d’éis mo ċompán:
mar sin buḋ daoiniġe ḋaṁ,
aoinḟile as tiġ ḋá tteagṁaḋ.
Teóra ceardċa ‘nar ċleaċt sinn
áineas d’ fágáil dom intinn,
naċ taiġlim na trí ceardċa,
do ṡní ḟaiġlinn ṁ’ aigeanta.
Teaċ meaḃraiġṫe ar mac soirḃiḋ,
rob áit oiris d’ ógḃuiḋniḃ,
grís deargṫa agus sí solas,
rob í ar gceardċa céadaṁas.
Teaċ luiġe ar loċta saṁla,
uinivers na healaḋna,
dánḃoṫ ór ḋoiċealgṫa sinn,
roiċeardċa ar n-ánroṫ innill.
Teaċ breiṫiḃ gaċ gréasa gloin
an treas teċ dar ttrí cceardċoiḃ,
ór lia snáṫ féiṫleannta fis,
‘nar ġnáṫ éinċeardċa an oiris.
Trí róṁa a ngaḃmaois gráḋa,
trí ceardċaḋa congṁála
do ḋreamuiḃ díle re dán,
tiġe ceanguil na gcompán.
Beannoċt leó a los a saoire,
dronga ar nár ċeisd cruaḋlaoiġe,
an coiṁṫionál dar ċóir searc,
doirċeaḋán dóiḃ nír ḋoirċeaċt.
Ba haiṫġearr eatorra sin
lá earraiġ, aġaiḋ ġeiṁriġ:
an luċt téarnó do-ní a-nois
mí don éanló ‘na h-éagṁois.
Ionnsa an t-anṡaoṫar orra,
naċ fuiġid fir ḟoġloma
gréas snáṫṡolas na suaḋ nglan,
dar ḋual fáṫḟoras focal.
Dursan an taoḃ ḋá dtáinig
a ṁoille ṫrá ṫionáilid;
faṫa sgaoiliḋ na sgoile
Gaoiḋil Maċa ag moġsoine.
TRANSLATION.
- I am alone among men; to-night I am joyless: left desolate after the others, finding no food of gladness.
- I do not understand these speakers who speak our mother tongue: I can find none that I know, for I see no one like myself.
- Every full encampment is to me the same as a desert after my comrades, yet it would be crowded to me if there were but one poet within.
- The three forges wherein I was wont to find mental delight, that I cannot visit these forges wears away the armoury of my mind.
- The house of memorising of our gentle lads—it was a trysting-place of youthful companies—embers red and shining, that was our forge at the first.
- The house of reclining for such as we, the university of art, poetic cell that kept us from beguilement, this was the great forge of our trained ánruith.
- The house of the critic of each fine of work was the third house of our three forges, which multiplied the clinging tendrils of knowledge, wherein the very forge of science was wont to be.
- Three sanctuaries wherein we took rank, three forges that sustained the loving companies of artists, houses that bound comrades together.
- A blessing on them for their nobility, men to whom hard poems were no perplexity: that gathering worthy of love, dark verse was to them no darkness.
- In their midst a spring day or a winter’s night was brief: lacking them those who have escaped make a month now of a single day.
- Hard is their toil when men of learning find not the bright-threaded artistry of illustrious scholars, to whom belonged the mystic import of words.
- Woe to the quarter whence came their slackness in meeting together! The cause of the dispersion of the school is that the Gaels of Macha are in bondage.
Note.—The above poem probably belongs to the early part of the 17th century. The last of the bardic schools are said to have been closed about 1641. By that time the old profession of poet and man of letters in the traditional style had come to an end. The writings of those who had grown up under the old system, and had seen the downfall of the society on which their livelihood depended, are melancholy reading. The three forges referred to are the three grades or classes through which the students passed. In the second (6) they were taught to compose in the dark, each in his own room, to avoid distractions. There are many indications that the student’s life was a pleasant one. The ánroth (6) was the poet next in rank to the ollamh. Macha—Eamhain Mhacha, the capital of ancient Ulster. There is another stanza in the MS. which is corrupt and unintelligible, and the poem is obviously incomplete.
OSBORN BERGIN.