Tá spéartha Londain gruama, liath, Is fearthainn nimhneach, fuar, Ag greadadh m’fhuinneoige de shíor, Nach mise féin ‘tá duairc. Ach lig liom le mo bhrionglóidí, Ar chladaí samhraidh suairc. Tá leoithne ón Atlantach tréan Ag beannú dom go caoin; Ar Oileán Acla thiar i gcéin Na Mionnáin ina suí. Is néalta taibhseacha sa spéir Ag damhsa is ag spraoi. San imigéin tá cnoic faoi cheo, Seal dealrach is seal dubhach; An t-aiteann ann ar dhath an óir Fraoch corcra ar gach cruach. An t-airgead luachra faoi mo shrón, ‘s gleann na Cuime fuaim. Nuair a scaipfidh cranna gréine Ag Gob a’ Choire thíos, Le hais gach sruthán gléineach Na mílte cloigín fraoigh, Beidh mé faoi réalt an tSléibhe Mhóir, Is Cruachán romham sa t-slí ‘S mé faoi dhraíocht ag ailleachtaí, Oileán Acla m’aislingí

Sure if I were able in Education To scribe your praises with my slender quill How in former ages were known to Achill The Great O’Malley from Slievemore Hill A sea bird glancing, a salmon prancing A swan advancing o’er the flowing rill And the small birds singing, their notes entwining All harmonising ‘round Slievemore Hill Assist me Genius, assist me fair one Assist me genius, while I expound My thousand praises of the many fair ones That lie to South of Slievemore mound The mould surrounding sweet Slievemore mountain Lies there surmounted with a vernal hue And the singing fountains are there resounding And megalithic tombs they are there to view The Golden Eagle with its strident whistle From Oichín Nead an Iolar go Cruachán árd In a bhfuil na h-ailtreacha farraige, ‘s iar de san óraibh Agus gleann na Cuime go bródúil faoi Sure if I were able in Education To scribe your praises with my slender quill How in former ages were known to Achill The Great O’Malley from Slievemore Hill

Bhí mé lá breá gréine, 'S mé triall a' dhul 'un aonaigh, 'S casadh liom an réalta gan smál. D'fhiafraigh mé den spéir-bhean, A mba bhanríon óg ón Ghréig í, Arbh í Juno, Pallas nó Venus í, nó aingeal? Tá a grua ar dhath na gcaortha, 'S a leaca bhí dá réir sin, Mar 'tá an eala 's í ag éirí den tsnámh , 'S a dúirt sí liom go céillí, “Ní neach ar bith den méid sin, Ach Nóra dheas na gcraobh-fholt Ní Bháidhidh." 'S a mhaighdean mhaiseach mhúinte, 'S a bhéilín tanaí ró-dheas, 'S a chúilín mar an ómar go sáil, Cé gur milse blas do phóigín, Ná mil na mbeach a reofadh , ' S go dtabharfá na sluaite ón mbás. An té 'chífeadh dul a' bóthar thú, 'S tú 'bheith in do chóiriú, ' Sé is samhail duit réalt eolais gan smál, Is tú mian gach buachaill óig, Is tú grá gach fear a phósadh thú Is tú Nóra dheas na gcraobh-fholt Ní Bháidhidh.

The islands of Ireland on lake and on sea Have a magic and a charm they’re steeped in history And of all those lovely islands, the pearl of the sea Is that island, Achill Island home sweet home to me Down through the ages you’ve been lashed by the waves From the wild Atlantic ocean they have formed your caves They have moulded your inlets your fine strands and bays Still your headland stands firm in the teeth of the gales It's the place where I was born many, many, years ago In those days when emigration forced the young and old to go And I’m hoping and I’m praying to return and feel free On that island Achill Island, home sweet home to me The storied Hy-Brasil it briefly appears From the mist on the ocean once in every seven years And when you’re in Achill in the beautiful west You may catch one rare glance of that isle of the blessed The flowered Isle of Gougane Barra, Lake Isle of Inishfree Off the coast of Connemara, those famous islands three Way up North lies stormy Rathlin, south peaceful Inish Clear Lambay, Arranmore, and Tory, Inishbofin, Turk and Clare Sadly, many now abandoned, Gola, Blasket, Inis Gé And historic Inis Gluaire, ancient home of Clanna Lir But of all those lovely islands, the pearl of the sea Is that island, Achill Island, home sweet home to me It’s the place where I was born many, many, years ago In those days when emigration forced the young and old to go And I’m hoping and I’m praying to return and feel free On that island Achill Island, home sweet home to me West stands mighty Croaghaun, with its lake Corrymore Let your eyes take a wander they’ll meet the grand Slievemore Standing tall as a monument to all gone before From their homeland Achill Island to their heavenly shore Not forgetting scenic Minaun, those cathedral cliffs so blue Mountains decked with purple heather and ferns of russet hue The houses are still whitewashed, the curraghs plough the sea Round that island Achill Island home sweet home to me It’s the place where I was born, many, many, years ago In those days when emigration forced the young and old to go And I’m longing and I’m praying to return and feel free On that island Achill Island, home sweet home to me Sadly, many now abandoned, Gola, Blasket, Inis Gé And historic Inis Gluaire, ancient home of Clanna Lir But of all those lovely islands, the pearl of the sea Is that island, Achill Island, home sweet home to me It’s the place where I was born many, many, years ago In those days when emigration forced the young and old to go And I’m hoping and I’m praying to return and feel free On that island Achill Island, home sweet home to me West stands mighty Croaghaun, with its lake Corrymore Let your eyes take a wander they’ll meet the grand Slievemore Standing tall as a monument to all gone before From their homeland Achill Island to their heavenly shore Not forgetting scenic Minaun, those cathedral cliffs so blue Mountains decked with purple heather and ferns of russet hue The houses are still whitewashed, the curraghs plough the sea Round that island Achill Island home sweet home to me It’s the place where I was born, many, many, years ago In those days when emigration forced the young and old to go And I’m longing and I’m praying to return and feel free On that island Achill Island, home sweet home to me On that island Achill Island, home sweet home to me!

The voices of the curlew crying on the air Floated about the silence of the hills. The brooding visage of the mountains bare Seemed to mute passion of a thousand wills. From the black waters of the dizzy pool Cupped in the rocky sharpness of their sides, Enchantments curled up to their foreheads cool, Like a large gesture that reveals and hides. Then thro' the tangled network of my mind I sank, as down a steep and endless well, A sudden darkness and a rushing wind And a sharp terror caught me as I fell. So I saw God: as like a man may see The Spectral Beauty and be living still. His snowy hair flowed thro' eternity, And his quick eyes searched out my secret will. Then shining rainbows hid him wholly up. But a large peace had filled me at the sight: Like crystal waters in a golden cup, Brimming above the sides into the light.

Isle of the Eagle, farewell to thy mountains, With all their bright blossoms of purple and gold, No more shall I sit by their murmuring fountains, Nor from their bold heights the Atlantic behold. How glorious to watch the proud billows ascending, In towers of white foam o'er the dark Isle of Clare, Or over Dooega's proud percipice bending, To see them far down shining lovely and fair. Oh, the flocks wander free on Kildownet's green highlands, Where the blue winding sound joins the ocean again, And the clouds rest in crowns on the rock-girded island, Like nature proclaiming them kings of the main. Oh, for some bard to sing of thy praises, Isle of romance with a wild fairy lore, Or to weave the loose threads into heart-rending stories, In numbers sublime 'round our own grand Slievemore. Dear glen of the oaks with thy garden of roses, Where the wild birds 'ere sing, and the breezes are mild, Embosomed in mountains, thy beauty reposing, Like fairylands opening in midst of the wild. If the sunshine of Genuis around thee were smiling How many from afar to thy bosom would flee? But for me has thy solitude charms more beguiling, Than if fashion had made thee her star of the sea. Now thy peaks fade from view, but whatever may betide me, In memory oft by that wild shore I'll dwell, Now the hills close thee in, other scenes are before me, Beautiful Isle of the Eagle farewell...... Now the hills close thee in, other scenes are before me, Beautiful island of Achill farewell.

Ar maidin moch do ghabhas amach, Ar bruach Locha Léin; An Samhradh 'g teacht 's an chraobh len' ais, Is ionrach te ón ngréin, Ar thaisteal dom trí bhailte poirt Is bánta míne réidhe, Cé do gheobhainn lem ais ach an chúileann deas, Le fáinne geal an lae. Ní raibh bróg ná stoca, caidhp ná clóc; Ar mo stóirin óg ón spéir, Ach folt fionn órga síos go troigh, Ag fás go barr an fhéir. Bhí calán crúite aici ina glaic, A's ar dhrúcht ba dheas a scéimh, Do rug barra gean ar Bhéineas dheas, Le fáinne geal an lae. Do shuigh an bhrídeog síos le m'ais, Ar bhinse glas den fhéar, Ag magadh léi bhíos dá maíomh go pras, Mar mhnaoi ná scarfainn léi. 'S é dúirt sí liomsa, "imigh uaim, Is scaoil mé ar siúl go réidh", Siúd iad aneas na soilse ag teacht, Le fáinne geal an lae.

The First Train to Achill It was tattie time in Scotland in eighteen ninety-four When Achill folk would take the boat to Ayrshire once more For weeks before from door to door the gaffers went around To gather squads for Scotland; for the bothies they were bound They stepped on board the hooker Victory, for she was Achill’s pride John Healy was the skipper, who’s fame was far and wide And as they sailed into the bay, their friends upon the shore Bade them farewell but never thought that they would meet no more Near Westport Quay around midday, they spied the Glasgow steamer As word went ‘round she’d ran aground they all made haste to see her From fore and aft though tightly packed they all rushed to one side And by the lashing of the sail, they were thrown into the tide. The tragic sight that followed was pitiful to behold The frantic struggling in the sea would make your blood run cold The shrieks, the groans, the cries, the moans of mother, child and wife And every man with spirit swam to save a neighbour’s life When O’Malley saw the danger quickly to their aid he flew By launching out a small boat began the prompt rescue He and his crew from the water drew full many a grateful hand ‘Til his laden boat could scarcely float to the safety of the land God bless you brave O’Malley; let every Christian pray Long life to you and your gallant crew on the waters of Clew Bay By your great speed to those in need you rescued seventy-five But thirty-two, no fault to you alas did not survive On the first train into Achill came the bodies of the drowned They were met by stricken mourners who thronged at Achill Sound Behind coffined carts with heavy hearts the funeral slowly wound To a communal grave beside the wave in Kildownet’s holy ground Achill o’er from shore to shore at this loss will ever mourn To their fine sons and daughters who from their midst were torn To the thirty-two we bid adieu as we will meet no more And many a family is weeping now along the Atlantic shore The Last Train to Achill But like the Irish down the ages, this cruel blow they did withstand The caoining and the healing they worked slowly hand in hand With the passing years smiles, mingled with óchón ‘s Mhuire ‘s trua But still preying on the minds of all was the Prophecy of Brian Rua On the nineteenth of September in the year of thirty seven The heart of every Achill soul once more with grief was riven From Kirkintilloch came the news that was so cruel to ponder In a Bothy fire ten island boys were burned to a cinder The last train into Achill brought the coffins of the mourned Ó’ Cearbháin’s Prophecy now fulfilled which had been cruelly spurned The black flags lined the route again as the funeral proceeded To a communal resting place once more in the graveyard of Kildownet Now the means by which we still survive is the Spirit of the Gael In the wake of Kirkintillock they subsidised the emigrant’s fare Survivors of the Victory were fined in court next day For plucking beasoms from the mountain-side to sweep their cabin floors of clay Now to conclude this doleful lay of rock and sail and fire Say a prayer for all who struggled there when conditions they were dire Near Michael Davitt’s swinging bridge he was our Mayo Land League founder The old railway station to this day stands as a stark reminder.

Slán leat Acaill is tú an t-oileán álainn, A dtug mé grá dhuit i dtús mo shaol, Agus shíl mé, a ghrá geal, nach mbeadh sé i ndán dom, Imeacht go brách uait, nó ó mo cháirde ghean. Ach anois ó thárla, go bhfuil orm thú a fhágáil, Mo chúig chéad slán leat, a stór mo chroí, Agus b'fhéidir, a thaisce, gur scaramh gearr é Is go bhfillfinn lá éicint, le h-ór is maoin. Bhí brón mo sháith orm, an lá a d'fhág mé Acaill, Mo mhisneach caillte agus cread ar mo chroí, Ach 's é brón mo mháthairín is mó do chrá mé, A bhí faiteach scámhar nach bhfillfinn a choich. "A mhic," ar sise ag breith ar lámh orm, "Shíl mé tráth go bhfanfá i mo dhéin, Ach ó thug tú geall dom go bhfillfeadh tú lá éicint, Ar choimre Dhé tú, a mhicín croí !" I mBoston ársa, i measc mo cháirde, Fuair mé áras 'is do chuir mé fúm, D 'éirigh an t-ádh liom le toil na nGrástaí, ls níor chuir mé i bhfostú cróin nó punt. Ach do mbeadh agamsa ór na Státaí, Ní bhéinn sásta do mhéid mo mhaoin, Nó gur thug mé séarsa don oileán bhreá úd Is gur bhain mé Acaill amach arís.

Is deas an áit ag strainséirí Oileán Acla álainn thiar, Is fáilteach iad na sléibhte ann, is na gleannta séimhe fial, Bíonn glór na dtonn go ceolmhar trom ag bualadh ar an trá, Ag cur fáilte roimh na stráinseirí, chuig an oileán glas gan smál Bíonn píobairi ag siúl na slí faoi Chruachán is Sliabh Mór, Agus seinneann lucht na bhfeadóg, ina mílte, sean is óg, Cuirfidh Gob a' Choire fáilte romhat, Dumha Acha is an Caol, Beidh rince agus drámaí romhat, agus spórt ar chuile thaobh. Ó nach breá a bheith ag siúl na trá, is ag fánaíocht faoi 'n spéir, Faoi dhraíocht ag cúr na mara ann, is a cheol i ndeireadh lae, In Acaill aoibhinn, aláinn, glas is binne glór na n-éan, Ó gabh i leith, tabhair cuairt gan teip, as a muintir Ghaelach shéimh. Is a chuairteoirí chuig Acaill, cuirfear fáilte romhaibh go léir, Agus beidh sibh sona sásta ann, in measc na ndaoine fhéin, Tá séipéilín Naomh Damhnait ann, agus caisleán Ghráinne Mhaol, Is an baile tréigthe faoi Shlíabh Mór, is na céadta dán is scéal. Is a bhuachaillí is a chailíní, sea, fanaigí go fóill, Comóirigí an saibhreas ‘tá ‘n ár ndúchas láidir ceoil, Comóirigí an Ghaeilg' ‘sí ár dteanga cheolmhar fhéin, Agus roinn í leis na stráinséirí, in Acaill seo na nGael.

In Bealtaine, down through the years, came Garbh Shíon na gCuach To release the precious sea-wrack, from the bottom of the ocean That “golden storm” carried it, to Leic and to the Bruach That was the Port Mór Feamainne, which caused such great emotion May morning silence broken, by that sound that was sublime The Dooagha village horn-blowers, named Callaghan and Kilcoyne As herds they were appointed, by the tenants one and all To the seashore no-one ventured, ‘til they heard ‘An Dúdach’ call It soon looked like an exodus, of every woman child and man With ponies, mares and donkeys yoked, to the ‘Cladach’ rushed each Clan Oh what a sight to see those piles, of golden sea-wrack treasure Which to their land, when lots were cast, were transported at their leisure Those days of yore may come no more, yet still while we are able The deeds of those who daily strove to source 'kitchen' for the table With heart-felt pride we cherish still through every generation With Lee and Emmet to the fore, the fifth in occupation

Dá mbéinnse féin i Mám a' Ghártha, Dúch is páipéir a bheith agam ann, Ba dheas do scríobhfainn i ndubh is i mbán é, An moladh álainn a bhí ar a ghleann. 'Sé a d'iarrfainn d'impí ar Rí na nGrásta, Intleacht Hómair a bheith in mo cheann, Is gur lena mhaitheas ba mhian liom a thrácht air, Ach faraor géar go bhfuil m'intleacht fann. 'Sé dúirt fear as Acaill liom , "Ná bíodh ort buaireamh Ná bí ag gol is ag éagcaoin in éis Chúil na Binn , Tabharfaidh mise bean duit agus dhá chéad bó léi, Agus acra móinéir in aghaidh an chinn. Bád is eangacha 'gus bíom in éineacht, Le go dtabharfá éadáil isteach ón tuinn, 'gus sílim féin gur fearr an méid sin, Ná a bheith ag gol is ag éag-caoin in éis Chúil na Binn." Dá dtabharfá bean dom agus dhá chéad bó léi, Acra móineir in aghaidh gach cinn, A bhfuil de bháid is d'eangacha as seo go Bófinn Saibhreas Sheoirse ar fad gan roinn B'fhearr liom acra den bhogach bháite, Atá idir an Máimín agus Inse an Droighin, Cead rince le cailíní lá saoire 's Domhnaigh, Thart ar na bóithre úd, i gCúl na Binn. Dá mbeadh a fhios ag na cruaidhfhir, Atá ar thaobh Ghleann Néifinn, Go bhfuil mise i m'aonrachán i mo luí go tinn, Gan spás ar bith chuirfeadh faoi mo dhéinse eachra gléigeala is cóiste cinn. Ghléasfaí bainis flea 's féasta, Spóirt 's pléisiúr is togha gach ceoil, Bheadh dhá chéad fear againn ar meisce in éineacht, I dteach Tom Daly i gCúl na Binn Tá litir scríofa agam anois faoi sheoladh, A chuireas mé amárach go Cúl na Binn, Go bhfuil mé 'mo luí le tuilleadh is ráithe, Buartha cráite le tinneas cinn. Ach mar bhfaighe me fhóirithint ó Rí na nGrásta, Is bheith in mo shláinte arís mar is cóir, Gléastar tuamba agus cónra clár dhom , Go síntear amárach mé ag bun Shliabh Mór. Tá na coillte dlúth ann ar thaobh Gleann Néifinn, Tá an duilliúr chraobh ghlas ag sileadh síos , Tá an chuach 's an traonach ar chraobh 's ar fhéir ann , Ag seinm go héadrom gach 1á 's d'oíche. Tá na daoine uaisle ar bharr a' tsléibhe ann , Ag déanamh eirligh ar chearca fraoigh, Ta an bradán broinngheal ag tíocht ón tsáile ann, Ag fearaibh Éireann le fáil gan pighin. Tá an loch is sáimhe ann dá bhfuil in Éirinn, Tá na báid ag éirí air ó thonn go tuinn, 'S don té a chleachtaí é is atá anois dhá thréigint Nach beag an dochar dó a chroí a bheith tinn? Ach más é an cúrsa a gheall Dia domsa, Gur le méid mo chumhaidh nó go liathfaidh mo cheann, Mo chúig chéad slán leat, a Bhoth a’ Dúin. Is do na coillte dlútha údaigh atá i gCúl na Binn. Ní cháinfead Acaill cé gur maith liom ‘fhágáil, Is deas an áit é ag stráinséaraí, Tá bia 'gus leabaidh ann ‘s míle fáilte, Agus comhrá geanúil ann ag fear is ag mnaoi. Ach mar iasc na farraige a thuigeans le nádúr, In éis a dháta a chaitheadh amuigh faoin tuinn, ‘Sé ‘fhearacht agam-sa, dá bhfaighinn an pálás, B’fhearr liom áras beag i gCúl na Binn. An té a shiúil Sasana is páirt d’Eirinn, Shiúil sé an Ghréig is an Ghearmáin, Chuaigh go hAlbain gur chaith sé téarma ann, As sin don Fhrainc is ar ais don Spáinn. D’aithriseoinn scéal duit, dar liom ní bréag sin, Shiúil mé Éirinn uilig gan roinn, ‘S ar a bhfaca mé de shiams’ ‘s de phléisiúr, Is ag Malaí Fhéilim nó thoir ag an Toim.

This London sky is dull and grey; A storm of sleet and rain Is beating dismally today Upon my window-pane. On wings of fancy let me stray To Summer shores again. Once more the fresh Atlantic breeze Its friendly greeting cries; Afar across the azure seas The cliffs of Achill rise And cloudland's countless pageantries Sweep thro' the sunlit skies. The distance fills with misty hills, Alternate gleam and gloom; I see again the purple plain Bestarred with golden broom, Whilst at my feet the meadowsweet Pours forth its faint perfume. So when along the Achill Sound The summer sunset gleams, And when the heather bells are found, Beside the mountain streams, I'll seek thy shore and live once more, Oh, island of my dreams! I'll seek thy shore and live once more, Achill Island of my dreams!

Má mholtar le scéal is le hamhrán, Na fir a bhí tréan agus fíor, Chuir clú agus cáil lena ndánacht Ar ghleann agus sruthán ‘s sliabh. Ná fágaigí ar deireadh na tréan-fhir Do chruinnigh ar phlánaí Mhaigh Eo, Nuair a ghnóthaigh na Gaill i Loch Garman Siad muintir an Iarthair bhí beo! Curfá Seo sláinte na bhfear as an Iarthair díbh, Do chruinnigh le cúnamh san ár! Sheas siad in aimsir an ghéar-chaill Seo sláinte fear Chonnacht go bráth! Tháinig na longa lá Fómhair, Go cuan Chill Ala ag snámh, ‘S bhíomar chomh fada ag súil leo Gur shíleamar nach dtiocfadh go bráth. Agus thosaigh na hadharca ag séideadh, Ag fógairt go raigh siad ar fáil, Agus corraíodh spreacadh in Éirinn Nach múchfar i gConnacht go brath! Curfá Níor bhuail sé an dó dhéag san oíche Gur shlánamar Cill Ala go breá: ‘S ní dheachaidh an ghrian síos ‘na dhiadh sin Go raibh brat glas ar chúirt Bhéal an Átha. Chruinnigh na céadta le cúnamh, Agus mairfidh an scéal sin go buan; An chaoi a raibh na redcoats á ruaigeadh As Caisleán an Bharraigh go Tuaim. Curfá Agus goirim na Francaigh bhreá- láidre Do tháinig le Humbert anall, Mar thug siad dúinn croí agus misneach Nuair a bhíomar go brónach sa ngábh! Agus trócaire Dé ar na céadta Do thit ‘s do leagadh san ár, Tá a gcnámha faoi fhód glas na hÉireann Agus cuimhneoimid orthu go brách! Curfá Má caitheadh le fána ár smaointe, ‘S ár ndóchas faoi scrios agus léan, Tá an fíor-spiorad beo inár gcroíthe Nach ngéillfidh don námhaid go héag! Agus féach! Táimid réidh ar an nóiméad A chluinfimid torann an áir Ag fógairt do chlanna na hÉireann Go bhfuil saoirse ár n-oileáin ar fáil! Dara Curfá Seo sláinte na gConnachtach fíora Do chruinnigh le cúnamh san ár! Siad togha agus rogha na tíre: Seo sláinte sean-Chonnacht go bráth!

There is no peace now however things go, No peace where the ways of men ring loud, Save in a secret place that I know, Hidden as in a cloud. All the high hills stand clustering round, Arched to protect it from trouble and noise, Those great strong hills that sing without sound, And speak with no voice. There lies Caoróg, the mute low lake And Bun a' Fréamha lying aloft, Peacefully sleeping, or even if they wake, Lapping low and soft. Upon the high hilltops the heather may be crying. And over the hilltops the voices of men are heard, But here only water lapping and sighing, Or the wail of a bird. Peace, peace and peace from the inner heart of dream, More full of wisdom than speech can tell, Dropt like a veil round the show of things that seem With an invisible spell.

An chéad lá de mhí an Fhómhair sea chrochamar na seoltaí, ag tarraingt ar na cóstaí go Tóin an Mhionnáin thiar, Thart anseo le Cliara agus Acaill Bheag taobh thiar dhe, Go hlnis Toirc ár dtrialladh, mar bhí iarraidh orainn ann; Suas le Rinn a’ Mhaoile agus anuas go Cruach na Caoile, An Cloigeann lena thaobh sin ‘s Trá Bhríde ina dhiaidh, Nó gur dhoirteamar le fánaidh, anuas tré fharraige cháithte, Go ndeachaigh muid chun na Ráithe, mar is ann a bhí ár dtriall. Ag scinneadh dhúinn thar Árainn ansúid a neartaigh an gáladh, Bhí cúrsa istigh ar sáith againn ‘s níor thráth dhá fhailliughadh é; Chuaigh an oíche chun feochan is as sin chun cuacha móra, Thóigeamar ár seolta, ‘s níor mhór dhúinn féin é; Shéid an fharraige ‘s phleasc sí ina mama geala glégeala, Chrith orainn an spéir le duibhthean ‘s le ceo Ansúid a bhí na ceolta ag bloic 's ag rópaí An Zephyr bhocht gur leonadh í ins na tonntracha bhí tréan Tráth theann mé uirthi an téadach chrith sí thrí na chéile A cuid ádhmaid bhí ag pléascadh ‘s gach nidh dhá raibh ós a coinn Thosaigh sí ag lúbadh ‘s ag imeacht mar bheadh cú ann Ag baint amharc as mo shúile ‘s níor léir liom mo lámh An sneachta adtuaidh dhá shéideadh go cruaidh isteach in m’éadan An fhairraige bhí ag pléascadh ins an spéir os mo choinn Trí dhul de rópa cnáibe bhí ar mo chum chaol fáisgthe Nach gar a chuaigh an bás dhom ‘s mé lag sáruighthe ina cheann Bhí fuireann na luinge in éineacht ag breathnú ar chlár m’éadan Ag iarraidh orm cabhair a dhéanamh gan aon mhaith dhóbhtha ann Agus tá mo láimhe stróicthe go síoraí ag tarraingt rópaí, Tá an craiceann is an fheoil ‘s iad tarraingthe amach on gcnáimh ‘Sé dúirt mé leobhtha ar aon chur go ndéanfainn cabhair dhá bhféadfainn Acht iomchróchad uirthi an t-éadach an fhad ‘s féidir léithe snámh Ach más é an bás a gheall Mac Dé dhúinn, dheamhan cabhair dhúinn dhá shéanadh Acht ólam sláinte a chéile má théimid beo chun cuain Ag filleadh dhúinn go hÉirinn bhí fíon is brandy is tae againn Tabac agus Siméice is gach aon tsórt dá raibh ann Bhí píosa fada síoda agus scafanna dhá dhaoire Cé bith cailín óg is mian liom is di shínfeas mé mo lámh Is mór an chliú ‘s an t-ádh dhúinn ár gceann a thabhairt chun láthair Gan againn acht ár namhaid ins gach áit dá raibh ár dtriall Bí water-guards ina ngárd ann ‘gus póilíos lena sála ‘Gus Revenue na háite is gach spíodóir ghá ndeachaidh leo. Bhí cutters bheag is mór ann ‘s píleóití salacha leofa Luingis Rí Seoirse ‘s iad sa tóir orm go dian. Ach is mise Caiptín Máille, fear maith de chineál Ghráinne A chuirfeadh amach a lucht go sásta, ‘gus ná raibh maith acu dhá chaoin.

Oileáin na hÉireann, ar abhainn, loch ‘s muir Seoda luachmhaire na tíre, saol sona simplí le brí ‘Gus i measc na n-oileáin álainn, sí an péarla faoi réim An t-oileán, Oileán Acla, grá mo chroí thú féin Aníos fríd na cianta, faoi léasadh na dtonn Ó aigéan fhiáin an Atlantaigh, ‘siad do chruthaigh gach rinn ‘Siad do mhúnlaigh gach óichín, gach trá agus cuan I gcoinne stoirme agus gala, sheas tú riamh go buan An áit in ar rugadh mise, Blianta I bhfad, i bhfad ó shin Sular Ruaig an t-imirce bhradach, óg ‘s aosta i bhfad i gcéin Go síoraí ag tnúth ‘s ag paidreoireacht, go bhfillfinn arís mo léan Ar an Oileán, Oileán Acla, grá mo chroí thú féin

Éist! Cluinim ins gach céarda fuaim bhog dheas aoibhinn álainn, Mar cheolta binn' na gcláirseach nó crónán ceolta sídhe - Éist! Tá sí ag éirí 'n airde ag neartú 's ag árdú, Ta 'n fhuaim ag éirí láidir, 'teacht chugainn ar an ghaoth: Fan! Céard é seo ' ár dtimpeall ag ceoltóireacht 's ag sioscadh? 'Bhfuil mearbhall teacht ar m'intinn, nó an aisling é an glór? Ní hea! Ní hea, a chairde. Tá an guth seo ins gach ceárda! Tá teanga bhinn ár máthar ag múscailt i Maigh Eo. Ta fuaim bhog bhinn na Gaeilge, ag dúiseacht ó na sléibhte, Tá lúth 'teacht i na géaga 'gus éirim ina croí ; Tá scaipeadh ar na néalta, tá 'm brón bhí urithi ag éalú 'Gus solas geal na gréine ag taithneamh uirthi arís. Tá a glór aoibhinn uasal ag crónán in ár gcluasa, Níos binne ná na cuacha, nó ceiliúr binn na smó1, Ta teanga bhinn Naoimh Pádraig le cloisteáil ar na bánta, I ngleann agus ar árdán ó cheann go ceann Mhaigh Eo. Eist! Cluinim glór ar máthar, go geanúil is go grámhar, Ag labhairt go múinte mánla is fiafraíonn sí dá clann ; A' gcluin sibh mé a pháistí ? 'Bhfuil trua agaibh d' bhúr máthair Atá go buartha cráite, gan meas uirthi nó suim ? An ]jgfidh sibh dom éagú ar thalamh glas na hÉireann ? Nó 'n ndéanfaidh sibh mé 'shéanadh ós coinne an tsaoil mhóir? Tá 'n freagra teacht go láidir : "Ní baol duit choíche a mháthair! Gus beidh tú fós go bláthmhar is faoi réim i Maigh Eo". Tá ' n t-óg agus an críonna ag múscailt suas go croíúil, Tá deireadh leis an oiche 'gus scaipeadh ar an gceo; Tá mothú teacht 'sna daoine 'gus spioráid in a gcroíthe – Ní bheidh said feasta cloite, faoi lionndubh nó faoi bhrón; Tá 'n seanóir cnaptha cloíte go meidhreach is go siamsúil, Tá lúcháir ar a chroí 'stigh 'gus tá sé ag éirí óg; Tá fear, bean is paiste faoi riméad is faoi áthas - Tá teanga bhinn ar máthar ag múscailt i Maigh Eo. Tá Maigh Eo ina dúiseacht, le dóchas is le dúthracht, I bhfiorthoiseach na cúise le n-ár dteanga 'chur ar fáil, Tá solas geal na Gaeilge ag breacadh ar na spéartha Is binn é ceol na n-éanlaith ag fuagairt dúinn an lá. Tá an Comhlacht Forbartha Áitiúil, ‘s an Coláiste i nDú Éige Go croíúil is go meabhlach ag crochadh a gcuid seol, Tá Scoil Acla 'na réalt eolais dár stiúradh is dár dtreorú 'S cuirfimid bláth na hóige ar an nGaeilg' i Maigh Eo.