unknown

Edited by Rudolf Thurneysen

La lamentation d'Irlande

‍

Déorchaóineadh na hEírionn

 10r
1. 1 Gan bhrígh, faraór, ata mo chéatfa,
   Ata mo spiorad adul sna héaga;
   Atáid mo shúile na muir theachta,
   Siád mo dheora mo chothugha laethuil.5 
   Nil ann mo bheatha acht annró a neíniocht.
   Ta mo chroidhe bocht da reabadh,
   Stáid mo smaóinte do mo ghéurghoin,
   Ag caóidh go cráite staid na hEírionn,
   Gan sógh na sult ag eínnach10 
   Dá rugadh riámh ar chlár Eímhir.
   Ag so dhuitsi mo sgéulsa,
   Re nairistir gach fuighiol a heachta.
   Do cháillsi a puimp sa stat a néiniocht.
   Do dibreadh tar farrige a treínfhir.15 
   Ataid a teampla mar barr peine
   Gan altoir, gan aiffrionn, gan sleachtuin,
   Na stabluighe each, is truáilligh an sgeulso,
   No gan cloch dá clochuibh re cheíle.
   O bhí clann Isráel san Eíghipt20 
   Faoi bhruid sfaói dhaóirse a neíniocht,
   Nir sgrióbadh a leabhar sni fhacuigh éinneach
   Annro mar annro na hEírionn. p.155
   Do díbreadh uáinn aódhuirighe an tréada.
   Sinn an tréad seachranach, creachtach25 
   O madruighe allta bheith dár léubairt,
   Sgan ar leighios ar láimh éinneich.
   Mar bhfhéacha Día ar ar neigion,
   Sdimhin go brach cur cailliodh Eire.
   Furtuig sinn, a tigheárna an tréineirt,30 
   Do bheir buaidh ar shluaite d'einnfhear.
   Toig du sgíursa do shíol Eímhir.
   Cneasuigh ar gcneadhthach redo créachtaibh,
   Sna doirt oruin thfhearg a néiniocht;
   Ni dheanam coirteadh haighe dá eised.35 
   Is iongnadh re óighibh n hEírionn
   Balluighe a mainistreach do bheith réabthadh,
   A ngeanamnuigheacht fein ar na treigean
   Is drúis na háit ag dul a néifeacht.
   Nil aódhbuirt gan cháigh a neínteach;40 
   Tombuighe briste sculuigheacha cleíre
   Sgach dísleacht eile do bhi a nEírinn.
   A nísligh bhrigh do chúaidh mo léansa.
   Gach seanlaóch, gach leanabán, gach treínfhear,
   Ar nógáinaigh sar mbantracht phéacach45 
   Caóianach, gioránach, éagnach,
   Dul faói ghallsmacht no ar farruige ar eigin.
   Ar nduthuigh dhílios gan toradh déise,
   Gan mhaóin, gan eallach acht féur léirglas.
   Taid ar ndíolleachta amhnan tréalag.50 
   Do shiubhail gort is plaigh ar Eíre
   Sgach sgiursa eile dar bhfhéidir;
   Ni hairistear fós fuighioll a peíne.
   Gidheadh, faraór mór ¹, is léar dhamh
   Go bhfhuil bogha fós an aírdrigh gléasda55 
   Sa bholgán saighiod faoí shaighdibh géara,
   Gach saighiod diobh ar ti ar ngéarghoin
   O bhunn ar ccos go clár ar néaduin, p.156
   Ag lot ar gcraoithe sa reabadh ar bfheítheach;
   Nil ball dar mballuibh nach bhfuil creachtach.60 
   Dimidh a nainnis oruin a néinfheacht.
   An bocht san saibhir, an fann san treínfhear,
   An tighíarna le ghaothuigheadh na céata,
   An calma neartfur sfear a cheachta,
   Ta túaith is eagluis faói éanghoín,65 
   Sa chroich ar ghúaluinn gach éinfhir.
   Ni haithne dhamhsa ni faóin speirsi
   Ta fabharthach, cairdeach lis na Gaedhluibh,
   Acht an farruige amháin ar eígin
   No an ghaóth do sheolus go reuphort70 
   Luingis ler tturas as Eírinn.
   Se fath fós bfuilidso reidh linn,
   Mar mhéadmid an muir ler ar ndéaradh,
   San ghaoth seachranach leir neímheadh.
   Ni fhaicmíd na flaithemhnuis reidh linn;75 
   Ni chluinmíd ar ngearan dá eísdeacht.
   Ta an talamh tar eís ar dtréicthidh
   San choill do bheir didion don éanlaith,
   Gach aill, gach úaidh sgach barr sléibhe,
   Gach cnoc, gach loc sgach léuna.80 
   Ta'r gcorudh gan guth cleíre,
   Gan inte acht mna ag eímhghe,
   Ag tarruing a bhfholt le saóbh céille  ²
   Ag caoine go craite dheiridh na Feine.
   Ta feadaín ar norgán réabtha;85 
   Do chaill ar gclairseach a crann gleasta
   Le sinnfighe cumuigh na hEírionn.
   No go bfille tar farruige na tréinfhir,
   Nil furtacht aguin acht léurghul,
   Sgreadach, bualabas no éimhghe.90 
   Ni neart sluaigh, ni hearbuidh beatha,
   Ni marcshluagh gall dar ghluáis o Bhreatuin,
   Ni clíth cumuis, ni díth spracuid
   Do chuir sluáite na hEirionn cum ratha p.157
   Sdo chuir tromdháimh mhór ann a mbailte,95 
   Faraor, faraór! acht méad a bpeacaidh.
   Siud sinn anois ann sa teallach
   Ann a bhfheachtar gach miotal bradach,
   Ghlanas an tór ó gach salach.
   Sfiór dan Sgríoptuir gach ni da nabuir:100 
   A deir gurb anró leighios ar ngalair;
   Le aithrighe gheabhuimne maithfeachas
   Is aisiog ann gach ni dar cailleadh.
   Ag so sios suim ar bpeacuidh:
   Leatrom na mbocht, goid is bradúil,105 
   Moide mora ar leath taca,
   Ar nanam do thabhairt don fhear is measa,
   Ba treise ar núabhar na ar mbeatha,
   Ba treise ar bhfhiacha na ar dtacar.
   Le treatúireacht do caille Eíre110 
   Slé mírún na bfear da chéile.
   Ni raibh breitheamh do bhéuradh eísdeacht
   Do lucht leatruim, anam a neígin;
   Deoránuigh is baintreabhachadh ag eimhghe
   Gan ceart, gan smacht dá dhéanadh.115 
   Ni rabhamar a ríamh a luib a cheile,
   Acht bo faoí cheangal is bo faoi reiteach;
   Nir frith umlacht choir o aeneach.
   Carúscadh ag ceannfurt na hEireann.
   Anuair bhi naimhdibh ag dheanamh feadhma,120 
   Totáil anam abheith ghleasda,
   Ceannairge nar bhfhuras do réiteach,
   Cuid a deise aig a bfear is treine.
   Is fada riam le horchóid Eíre;
   Is mar so criochnaigheadh cogadh na nGaeluibh.125 
   Fillmuíd anois is athruighiom béusa,
   Deanmuid aithrighe nar bpeacuidh a néinfheacht.
   Smar so tanicc Israéil on Eíghipt,
   O thigh na daoírse is o gach eígionn.
   Maitheadh do Niniue gach a ndéurnaigh,130 
   Is fos do Peadar Xp. do shéanadh.
   A naoimh na hEírionn, eírgidh go leír nois. p.158
   A Phadruicc, budh lér beanuighe a treadso.
   Siúd sinn díbeartha, siúd sinn treígthidh;
   An smearóid múchtaidh, sgan tú dá seídeadh.135 
   An trom do cholladh no an mall theisdeacht,
   Nach dtugann tu toradh ar eíneach?
   Mosgail tráth, na bíodh mar sgeul ort
   Nach bfuil furtacht a ndan do Ghaeluibh.
   Síud, a Phadruicc, mfhíarrán feín leat,140 
   Go nabruid naimhde na cleire
   Nach bhfhuil agud cluás le heísdeacht,
   Snaib goillionn gearan na nGael ort;
   Sda ngoilleadh, nach bhfhuighdis éura.
   Gideadh bi linn sbi le treíneart,145 
   Sbiadh slan ar namhad go brach fa Eíre.
‍

2. IRLANDS LAMENTATION

 11r
1. My sense benummd, my spirits dead, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> I swimme in seas of griefe;
   My tears are made my dayly bread, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> affliction is my life.
   My heart doth groane, my thoughts bemoan <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> poor Irlands ruefull state;
   Noe earthly joy doth shee injoy: <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> such is her cursed fate.
2. Her pomp and state reducd' to naught, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> her chieftains all exild';
   The ruins of her churches mourne <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> polluted and defild'.
   Since Israel a thrall befell <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> unto her cruell foes,
   Could any see such misery? <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> Noe tongue can tell our woes.
3. Our pastours fled, the flock disusd', <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> and none to feed but Thou.
   The wolves devoure and slaughter all. <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> Come, come! redeeme us now.
   Containe, o God, thy smarting rod, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> or else wee all decaye.
   Come, cure with speed our wounds that bleed; <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> they wrath, o Lord, allay.
 p.159
4. Our Vestalls stand amazd to see <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> their cloysters all defacd'
   And lechery usurping roome, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> where chastity was placd'.
   Noe sacrifice or edifice <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> unspotted doth appeere.
   Our monuments and ornaments <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> destroyed, and what is deere.
5. Our aged folke, our women, maydes, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> our youths are captives made,
   Our wealth consumd, our orphans starve <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> and wither in the blade.
   Our lands are wast, and none doe tast <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> the fruit thereof with joy.
   Plague, famine, warre gave us a scarre <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> and all that could annoy.
6. And yett, o Lord, they bow is bent; <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> they arrowes pierce our heart.
   From top to toe noe place is sound, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> each limme hath felt a smart.
   The rich, the poore, the lord, the boore, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> the weake, the stout, the strong,
   The church, the state, and all of late, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> doe beare their crosse along.
7. The sea alone doth favour us, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> as feeleing some increase
   By our sad teares that drop to her; <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> our sighes with wind made peace.
   The heavens seeme not to redeeme <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> our woes, denyeing aide;
   The rockes and denns, the woods and fennes <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> to shade us are affrayd'.
8. Our quire is mute, our organs dumbe, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> our notes both shrill and sharpe;
   Our instruments noe consort keepe, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> for sorrow tunes our harpe.
   Untill againe our men from Spaine <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> unto soyle returne,
   In endlesse griefe without reliefe <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> wee'il never cease to mourne.
9. Thy sinnes, poore Irland, wrought thy woe; <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> affliction is they cure,
   The fire whereof consumd' thy drosse, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> I hope, and made thee pure
   Repent, repent! God will relent <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> and save thee in the end
   And deale with thee in piety, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> thy faults if thou amend.
 p.160
10. These were thy hideous, monstrous sinnes: <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> oppression, rapine, stealth;
    Thy pride exceeded farre thy strength; <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> thy score surpassd' thy wealth.
    Thy treacherous heart increasd' thy smart, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> unto thee selfe untrue.
    Unjustice crept, thy widdowes wept <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> and orphans weake did rue.
11. Noe law could yett unite our hearts; <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> obedient none was found;
    All power contemnd', noe orders kept; <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> confusion walkd' the round.
    Thy riotous life, contention, strife <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> intestine broyles and jarres,
    Hath made thy state unfortunate: <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> thus ended Irlands warres.
12. Repent, repent! Returne, returne <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> againe unto thy God!
    Lament with teares thy sinfull dayes, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> and Hee will spare the rod.
    O Lord of hoastes, accept our votes! <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> From dust thy people rayse!
    And wee will tell like Israel <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> thy wonders, sing the prayse.
13. Awake, awake, yee Irish saints! <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> O patrons, now arrise!
    Lett faythlesse know your power with God, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> give ears unto our cryes!
    Such as deny and doe defye <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> your favours, beare the sway;
    And wee that pray to you each day, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> are banishd' all away.
14. Recall, o Lord, our pastours backe; <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> give us true charity;
    Confirme us in they heavenly grace; <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> give hope, o Deity;
    If Thou forgive, then wee shall live; <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> if dead? Thou wilt revive.
    If God for us and man gainst us, <caesura TEIform="caesura"/> all our affayres shall thrive!—

finis.

‍

3. LAMENTATIO HIBERNIAE

 12r
15. Languidus emorior; lachrymosas curro per undas,
    Pascor et ex lachrimis; fit mihi vita dolor. p.161
    Corde dolorifero mea mens deplorat Iernam,
    Cujus ab exitio gaudia nulla beant.5 
    Proscripti proceres, pompa et praeciosa sepulta
    Sacrilega lugent diruta diva manu.
    Post casus Iakob, post tristia fata Judaeae
    Nullibi par nostris luctua lingua legit.
    Grex sine pastore est, sine pastu. Pastor es unus,10 
    Christe; venito, juva! sternimur ore lupi.
    Parcito jam virgis; dura est qua cedimur ira.
    Curre, veni, sana vulnera, et ira ruat.
    En modo sacra videt prophanari Vesta, tremiscens,
    Virgineos Veneris dum videt esse thoros.15 
    Squalida cuncta patent tetris maculata ruinis;
    Quae fuerant praetii, trita rejecta jacent.
    Vir, mulier, faemella, senex, captiva juventus,
    Infantes et opes jam periere simul.
    Terra jacet sterilis; nulli dant gaudia messes;20 
    Bella, fames, pestis, quicquid et extat, obest.
    Siccine, Christe, tuis pharetris penetramur et arcu,
    Undique dum telis corpora nostra rubent.
    Dives, inops, dominus, ruralis, fortis et aeger,
    Clerus cum populo, portat uterque crucem.25 
    Sola favent pelagus, quia nostris fletibus undans,
    Et ventus, nostra voce ululante fremens.
    Caetera bella movent: caelum subsidia traxit;
    Saxa negant latebras, silva paludis opem.
    Obmutuere chori; notulis resonamus acutis;30 
    Organa nostra silent; cythara maesta canit.
    Sic sine fine dolor, sine spe tristitia, donec
    Ex Iberi redeat tristis et exul Hiber.
    Haec ipsi tulimus nobis, mala nostra tulerunt,
    Quae nunc expurgat justus in igne deus.35 
    Verte, reverte Syon! Pietas miserebitur olim,
    Si tua contrito crimina corde fleas.
    Haec tua culpa fuit: furtum, violentia, raptus
    Et praeter vires luxus inanis opum.
    Tu tibi crudelis, tibi perfida, Banva rebellis,40 
    Dum flerent viduae cum minorenne jugum. p.162
    Nullus erat redamantis amans, nulla unio rerum;
    Lex sine lege gemens; undique triste chaos.
    Prodiga vita fuit, bella intestina, tumultus:
    Finis et his nostris Mars, sua bella malis.45 
    Verte, reverte Syon! Tandem tua crimina plangas:
    Et feret auxilium, qui tulit ante plagas.
    Suspice vota, deus, de pulvere fusa tuorum.
    Ut semel ex nostris gloria vestra sonet,
    Surgite Hibernigenum divi, vigilate patroni;50 
    Perfida mens videat qua valeatis ope.
    Triste lacessentes sanctorum numina vincunt,
    Et nos sancticolo vincimur usque modo.
    Christe, juva, gregem revoca, sucurre colenti,
    Et semel emergant spes, amor atque fides.55 
    Si tu condones, vivet; vita esto sepulta:
    Si tu pro nobis, mox redivivet Hiber.

Finis.

24 October 1892.

R. Thurneysen.

@article{G402575,
  editor 	 = {Rudolf Thurneysen},
  title 	 = {La lamentation d'Irlande},
  journal 	 = {Revue Celtique},
  number 	 = {14},
  address 	 = {Paris},
  publisher 	 = {Émile Bouillon},
  date 	 = {1893},
  pages 	 = {153–162}
}
 G402575.bib