|
Foddey voish sleih, ayns faasagh er cooyl-chlea,
ren hermit reih son dy leeideil e vea;
|
Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
|
|
eer veih e aegid shen ’raad hug eh seose
gys v’eh shenn ghooinney onnoroil ayns eash;
|
from youth to age a reverend hermit grew;
|
|
she ooig dy imlee ghow eh son e hie,
er lhiabbee cheynnagh dy surdremagh lhie;
|
the moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
|
|
messyn mygeayrt gansoor son beaghey da,
as jeh’n farrane v’eh giu dy chuirr e phaa;
|
his food the fruits, his drink the crystal well:
|
|
scart voish sheelnaue, agh beaghey marish Jee,
|
remote from man, with God he passed the days,
|
|
va ’obbyr padjer, toyrt-booise va boggey ’chree.
|
prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.
|
|
E vea va crauee, eunyssagh, gerjoil
|
A life so sacred, such serene repose,
|
|
myr flaunys hene, derrey haink huggey miole
|
seemed heaven itself, till one suggestion rose;
|
|
dy jinnagh olkys goaill yn raad lurg traa,
as foays failleil, as biallys ’chur da.
|
that vice should triumph, virtue vice obey,
|
|
Va ’annym criht lesh sorch dy vee-hreishteil
jeh’n coadey mie ta harrish ooilley reill,
|
this sprung some doubt of providence’s sway:
|
|
nagh row ’hreishteil gerjoilagh myr ve roie.
|
his hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
|
|
Va ’aigney boirit, currit slane ass doaie,
|
and all the tenor of his soul is lost.
|
|
’naght myr ta poyll dy ushtey rea raad hee-oo
|
So when a smooth expanse receives impressed
|
|
caslys jeh’n seihIl ta cummit er y chleeau;
|
calm nature’s image on its watery breast,
|
|
biljyn er brooinyn gaase sheese gour nyn maare,
|
down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
|
|
heese foue dagh cuIlyr myr ta heose ’syn aer;
|
and skies beneath with answering colours glow:
|
|
’syn ushtey feagh my hilgagh fer agh clagh
|
but if a stone the gentle sea divide,
|
|
veagh tonnyn beggey runt mygeayrt yn logh,
|
swift ruffling circles curl on every side,
|
|
soilshean yn Ghrian ayns skellyn sollys myn;
|
and glimmering fragments of a broken sun,
|
|
ta brooinyn, biljyn, aer, as ooilley bun-ry-skyn.
|
banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.
|
|
Ghow eh son saase dy eiyrt yn dooyt ersooyl
yn seihll y akin liorish shilley-sooill,
|
To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight,
|
|
dy yeeaghyn row ny lioaryn v’eh er lhaih
cur coontey kiart jeh raa as jannoo sleih;
|
to find if books, or swains, report it right,
|
|
son derrey nish cha bione da’n seihll ny smoo
na liorish boch’llyn v’eh er daggloo roo,
|
(for yet by swains alone the world he knew,
|
|
’s scollagyn cheerey veagh nyn gassyn fluigh
troailt gys e chummal, cheet roue ayns y druight.
|
whose feet came wandering o’er the nightly dew,)
|
|
Faagail e chummal raad v’eh choud er cheau
she lorg y troailtagh ren eh ’ghoaill ny laue
dy ghoaill jurnaa myr oddagh eh ry-chosh,
|
he quits his cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore,
|
|
hug eh’n shlig-roagan ayns e edd cheu-wass;
|
and fixed the scallop in his hat before;
|
|
ec irree-ghreiney hie eh roish, kiarail
|
then with the sun a rising journey went,
|
|
scrial ny oddagh ynsagh da fordrail.
|
sedate to think, and watching each event.
|
|
Va’n moghrey ceaut shooyl trooid yn aasagh feayn
raad nagh row cassan r’ akin er yn foain;
|
The morn was wasted in the pathless grass,
|
|
fegooish cumraag, boayl nagh row cummaltee,
yn chaitnys feie fadane va liauyr as dree;
|
and long and lonesome was the wild to pass;
|
|
yn ghrian goll jiass, e vree yn seihll er hiow,
|
but when the southern sun had warmed the day,
|
|
haink scollag aeg er raad veih’n derrey heu;
|
a youth came posting o’er a crossing way;
|
|
va ’choamrey jesh, e eddin lane dy vlaa,
|
his raiment decent, his complexion fair,
|
|
as folt e ching ayns skeogyn runt chyndaa:
|
and soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair.
|
|
“Dy vannee dhyt, Ayr!” dooyrt eh lesh ard-choraa:
|
Then near approaching, “Father, hail!” he cried;
|
|
“Dy vannee dhyt’s, my vac!” yn ayr ooasle gra;
|
and “Hail, my son,” the reverend sire replied;
|
|
fockle hooar fockle, hie ad er pleateil,
|
words followed words, from question answer flowed,
|
|
cooisheragh chion, yarrood ad nyn dooilleil.
|
and talk of various kind deceived the road;
|
|
Cho coardit v’ad neu-wooiagh dy phaartail,
|
till each with other pleased, and loth to part,
|
|
ayns eash neu-chorrym agh ayns cree coardail,
|
while in their age they differ, join in heart:
|
|
’naght myr ta billey lhieuan shenn ayns stayd
|
thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound,
|
|
cryssit mygeayrt ayns roih’ghyn hibbin aeg.
|
thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.
|
|
Agh nish yn scollag e chumraag gansoor,
|
|
|
ayns firrinys follit jannoo briaght mooar
|
|
|
eh dy chur tastey as gyn veg y ghra,
|
|
|
’s yindyssyn yinnagh eh y hoilshagh da.
|
|
|
Coardit myr shen, yn laa va choud er roie
|
Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day
|
|
dy row yn seihll goaill coamrey keeir ny h-oie;
|
came onward, mantled o’er with sober grey;
|
|
va dooghys cuirrey’n seihll dy gholl gys fea;
|
nature in silence bid the world repose;
|
|
traa shen hrog plaase ayns shilley tammylt jeh;
|
when near the road a stately palace rose:
|
|
trooid coorse dy viljyn hie ad, v’er dagh laue
|
there by the moon through ranks of trees they pass,
|
|
glass as messoil, yn eayst cur soilshey daue.
|
whose verdure crowned their sloping sides of grass.
|
|
Va chiarn yn voayl er n’yannoo cliaghtey jeh
|
It chanced the noble master of the dome
|
|
da troaiItee deinagh dy choyrt oltagh-bea;
|
still made his house the wandering stranger’s home;
|
|
son moylley gheiney, shen va ooilley’n oyr
|
yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise,
|
|
hug er myr shoh cho feoilt baarail e stoyr.
|
proved the vain flourish of expensive ease.
|
|
Ta’n jees er jeet, sharvaantyn ta tendeil
|
The pair arrive: the liveried servants wait;
|
|
ec giat staydoil, yn chiarn hug daue meeiteil;
|
their lord receives them at the pompous gate.
|
|
va’n boayrd pandoogh lesh laad cho trome dy vee,
|
The table groans with costly piles of food,
|
|
ny bare cha bliass da deiney-seyrey gee;
|
and all is more than hospitably good.
|
|
leeidit gys fea, raad chaddil ad dy souyr,
|
Then led to rest, the day’s long toil they drown,
|
|
as chaill ad skeeys ooilley’n troailtys liauyr,
|
|
|
sinkeil ayns sheeidey va mygeayrt-y-moo
|
deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down.
|
|
as ayns y lhiabbee veeley chlooie va foue.
|
|
|
Haink brishey’n laa; cha daink yn laa ny sleaie
|
At length ’tis morn, and at the dawn of day,
|
|
na haink veih’n jiass farraneyn meeley geayee;
|
along the wide canals the zephyrs play;
|
|
eaghtyr dagh loghan myr dy beagh ad cloie,
|
|
|
yn gheay cur er ny duillagyn dy lheihll,
|
fresh o’er the gay parterres the breezes creep,
|
|
as myr veagh gimman cadley voish y cheyll.
|
and shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleep.
|
|
Dirree ny goaldee leah tra hooar ad raaue:
|
Up rise the guests, obedient to the call:
|
|
cuirraghyn moghey v’ayns y halley daue,
|
an early banquet decked the splendid hall;
|
|
yn reih dy feeyn ayns cappan airh va fieau,
|
rich luscious wine a golden goblet graced,
|
|
yn mainshtyr dooie va geignagh ad dy iu.
|
which the kind master forced the guests to taste.
|
|
Booiagh as booisal v’ad, goll voish y dorrys,
|
Then, pleased and thankful, from the porch they go;
|
|
gyn oyr ec ’nane, agh dooinney’n thie, dy arrys;
|
and, but the landlord, none had cause of woe;
|
|
son ayns aght follit –nagh dug ’nane my-ner–
|
his cup was vanished; for in secret guise
|
|
va’n goaldagh aeg er gheid yn cappan airh:
|
the younger guest purloined the glittering prize.
|
|
lurg daue v’er gholl er tammylt mie jeh’n raad
|
[see 76-77]
|
|
yeeagh eh yn verchys gheidit da ’chumraag.
|
[see 76-77]
|
|
Myr fer ta fakin er y raad ard-nieu
|
As one who spies a serpent in his way,
|
|
ayns chiass ny greiney lhie, cretoor cho grouw,
|
glistening and basking in the summer ray,
|
|
loagan as shassoo, chea veih gah baasoil,
|
disordered stops to shun the danger near,
|
|
sleaydey dy lhiattee, jeeaghyn gour e hooill,
|
then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear;
|
|
shoh myr va’n ayr, e chree lesh atchim craa –
|
so seemed the sire; when far upon the road,
|
|
|
the shining spoil his wily partner showed.
|
|
|
He stopped with silence, walked with trembling heart,
|
|
agh jeh paartail cha b’lhoys da fockle ’ghra;
|
and much he wished, but durst not ask to part:
|
|
trughanys, jeeaghyn seose, v’eh coontey creoi
|
murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard,
|
|
jeh giastyllys dy gheddyn leagh neu-ghooie.
|
that generous actions meet a base reward.
|
|
Agh myr v’ad goll yn aer ren coodagh doo,
|
While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds,
|
|
yn ghrian fo bodjallyn va follit voue;
|
the changing skies hang out their sable clouds;
|
|
feiyr er nyn skyn, cowrey jeh fliaghey trome,
|
a sound in air presaged approaching rain,
|
|
maase roie gys fastee, crossey’n magher lhome.
|
and beasts to covert scud across the plain.
|
|
Veih cowraghyn cho cronnal ghow ad raaue
|
Warned by the signs, the wandering pair retreat,
|
|
dy hirrey fastee thie va faggys daue,
|
to seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat.
|
|
troggit er thalloo ard, lesh tooryn runt,
|
’Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground,
|
|
agh s’moal yn farrysthie va er y ghrunt;
|
and strong, and large, and unimproved around;
|
|
mainshtyr neu-ghooie, peajeogagh as awane,
|
its owner’s temper, timorous and severe,
|
|
hug er mygeayrt e hie dy ve fadane.
|
unkind and griping, caused a desert there.
|
|
Myr haink ad seose gys giat y dooinney creoi,
|
As near the miser’s heavy doors they drew,
|
|
eiyrit lesh dorrin chlabbinagh ny geayee,
|
fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew;
|
|
tendreilyn bieau, as frassyn trome dy liaghey,
|
the nimble lightning mixed with showers began,
|
|
yn taarnagh feiyral er nyn skyn goll shaghey;
|
and o’er their heads loud-rolling thunder ran.
|
|
cronkal, as cronkal v’ad, as foddey fieau,
|
Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain,
|
|
fliugh lesh yn fliaghey dorrinagh va ceau,
|
driven by the wind, and battered by the rain.
|
|
agh lurg daue ve er farkiaght tammylt mie
ren towse dy hymmey meiyghey’n mainshtyr sthie,
|
At length some pity warmed the master’s breast,
|
|
(gys shen cha daink rieau goaldagh stiagh ny hie);
|
(’twas then his threshold first received a guest,)
|
|
lhiastey as jeestyrnee ta’n chooylley hrome chyndaa
|
slow creaking turns the door with jealous care,
|
|
as lieh’n raad stiagh chuirr eh yn jees va craa;
|
and half he welcomes in the shivering pair;
|
|
un chrouw spaarailagh hooar ad foaddit roue
dy choyrt daue mioyr ’s nyn oltyn feayr dy hiow.
|
one frugal faggot lights the naked walls,
|
|
Ny veggan va ny oltyn oc goaill chiass,
bree dooghys hene va cur lesh mioyr er-ash;
|
and nature’s fervour through their limbs recalls:
|
|
yn arran s’melley, as bine dy feeyn va geayr
|
bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine,
|
|
(mooarit dy liooar), shen hooar ad son jinnair;
|
each hardly granted, served them both to dine;
|
|
as tra va’n sterr’m er ghoaill red beg dy fea
|
and when the tempest first appeared to cease,
|
|
haink chaghter huc dy bare daue talkal jeh.
|
a ready warning bid them part in peace.
|
|
Eisht smooinee’n hermit, kys va lheid shoh rieau
|
With still remark the pondering hermit viewed
|
|
dooinney cho berchagh, lheid y dreih neu-feeu,
|
in one so rich, a life so poor and rude;
|
|
kys yinnagh eh (dooyrt eh cheu-sthie jeh hene)
|
and why should such, (within himself he cried)
|
|
glassey e stoyr ayns mean thousaneyn feme?
|
lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside?
|
|
Agh shoh va oyr dy yindys elley da
|
But what new marks of wonder soon took place
|
|
dy row e eddin cronnit dy chaghlaa,
|
in every settling feature of his face!
|
|
tra ghow e chumraag ass e oghrish, ny va roie
|
when from his vest the young companion bore
|
|
cappan y vainshtyr kenjallagh as dooie,
|
that cup, the generous landlord owned before,
|
|
as lesh y saagh priceoil dy feoilt cooilleen
|
and paid profusely with the precious bowl,
|
|
feoiltys neu-ghooie peajeogagh yn mooidjeen!
|
the stinted kindness of this churlish soul.
|
|
Yn gioot soilshean, yn sondagh goaill e reih,
|
|
|
’eeacklyn craa, e hooillyn baanrit cloie;
|
|
|
my dooar eh reesht dy shickyr er e cassyn
|
|
|
ny goaldee feoilt v’er n’immeeaght ass fakin.
|
|
|
Ny bodjallyn va goll dy gastey nish,
|
But now the clouds in airy tumult fly;
|
|
yn aer gaase gorrym as y ghrian cheet rish,
|
the sun emerging opes an azure sky;
|
|
ny duillagyn s’geayney nish va ayns nyn mlaa
|
a fresher green the smelling leaves display,
|
|
as skeayley soar gerjoilagh myr v’ad craa;
|
and glittering as they tremble, cheer the day:
|
|
yn emshyr hug daue oltagh er y chooyl
veih’n farrail voght va faagit oc nyn gooyl.
|
the weather courts them from the poor retreat,
|
|
Yn mainshtyr booiagh ren ad neesht ’aagail,
ren jeigh yn giat dy leah lurg daue paartail.
|
and the glad master bolts the wary gate.
|
|
Myr v’ad goll er, ga nagh row’n hermit loayrt,
|
While hence they walk, the pilgrim’s bosom wrought
|
|
neu-hickyrys hug e smooinaghtyn er-troailt:
|
with all the travel of uncertain thought;
|
|
cha row eh toiggal cre va ’heshey mysh,
|
his partner’s acts without their cause appear,
|
|
v’eh roie ny vaarliagh, agh ny vlebbin nish;
|
’twas there a vice, and seemed a madness here:
|
|
shen va oyr feoh, shoh va oyr mooaragh da,
|
detesting that, and pitying this he goes,
|
|
v’ec kione e cheilley lesh whilleen caghlaa.
|
lost and confounded with the various shows.
|
|
Keeiragh ny h-oie cheet orroo ass-y-noa
|
Now night’s dim shades again involve the sky,
|
|
v’ad laccal aaght, boayl dy ghoaill fastee fo;
|
again the wanderers want a place to lie,
|
|
lurg tammylt, myr v’ad shooyl as jeeaghyn magh,
rosh ad gys boayl raad ren ad feddyn aaght.
|
again they search, and find a lodging nigh:
|
|
Va’n thalloo labrit, as ayns ordyr mie,
troggit dy jesh, as stoamey neesht va’n thie,
|
the soil improved around, the mansion neat,
|
|
cha nee red moal, eabit er veggan gheill,
chamoo staydoil lesh moyrn er ghoaill y reill,
|
and neither poorly low, nor idly great:
|
|
ve soilshagh aigney’n vainshtyr, quoi v’er reih
|
it seemed to speak its master’s turn of mind,
|
|
dy ve kennoil, cha nee son moylley sleih.
|
content, and not for praise, but virtue kind.
|
|
Ayns shen hyndaa ny coshee stiagh dy skee,
|
Hither the walkers turn with weary feet,
|
|
bannaghey’n thie, ’s yn mainshtyr neesht lesh shee;
|
then bless the mansion, and the master greet:
|
|
bannaghey imlee, ynrick ren ad da,
|
their greeting fair, bestowed with modest guise,
|
|
yn mainshtyr lowal ren ansoor ’hyndaa:
|
the courteous master hears, and thus replies:
|
|
“Ayrn jeh ny t’aym, lesh arryltys my chree,
|
“Without a vain, without a grudging heart,
|
|
ta mee coyrt da Fer-toyrt dy chooilley nhee;
|
to him who gives us all, I yield a part;
|
|
yiow shiu ayns shoh, er ’choontey haink shiu veih,
|
from him you come, for him accept it here,
|
|
dy feoilt lesh sheeltys, jeh dagh gien y reih.”
|
a frank and sober, more than costly cheer.”
|
|
Yn boayrd va skeaylt; lurg shen jeh cooishyn mie
|
He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread,
|
|
loayr ad ry-cheilley derrey ve traa-lhie:
|
then talked of virtue till the time of bed,
|
|
yn clag va bwoailt, yn lught-thie freggyrt da
|
when the grave household round his hall repair,
|
|
lesh padjer hug ad jerrey er y laa.
|
warned by a bell, and close the hours with prayer.
|
|
‘Sy vadran waagh yn seihll va reesht jeant cooie
|
At length the world, renewed by calm repose,
|
|
son obbyr liorish aash as fea ny h-oie:
|
was strong for toil, the dappled morn arose;
|
|
my jagh ny troailtee roue veih’n ynnyd shen
|
before the pilgrims part, the younger crept
|
|
hie’n dooinney aeg dy feagh gys lhiattee’n chlean;
ny chadley ayn va lhiannoo beg ny lhie,
mac ynrycan, as boggey mooar fer-thie;
|
near the closed cradle where an infant slept,
|
|
oh cre’n chyndaa! ghreim eh yn oikan faase,
|
and writhed his neck: the landlord’s little pride,
|
|
chass eh e chione, ’s lesh osney hooar eh baase.
|
o strange return! grew black, and gasped, and died.
|
|
Atchim ass towse yn hermit cur-my-ner,
|
Horror of horrors! what! his only son!
|
|
oh lesh cre’n shilley ren eh jeeaghyn er!
|
how looked our hermit when the fact was done?
|
|
Cabbyn doo niurin er ny osley lhean,
|
not Hell, though Hell’s black jaws in sunder part,
|
|
sheidey magh lossey gorrym ass y vean,
cha row er ve da ’chree ny smoo dy ghreain.
|
and breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart.
|
|
Ny host lesh aggle agh failleil ayns mioyr,
|
Confused, and struck with silence at the deed,
|
|
ga bwooishal roie dy yannoo siyr dy liooar,
|
he flies, but trembling fails to fly with speed.
|
|
dy gastey er e eiyrts hie’n scollag aeg.
|
His steps the youth pursues: the country lay
|
|
Va’n cheer condaigagh lesh caghlaaghyn raad,
|
perplexed with roads, a servant showed the way:
|
|
awin vooar va crossey’n cassan v’ad goll er,
|
a river crossed the path; the passage o’er
|
|
sharvaant hie roue dy stampey ’n cassan cair;
|
was nice to find; the servant trod before:
|
|
banglaneyn liauyr dy villey darragh chiu
|
long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied,
|
|
yn droghad v’ayn, as diunid vooar va foue.
|
and deep the waves beneath the bending glide.
|
|
Yn scollag aeg, myr jeeaghyn magh son caa,
|
The youth, who seemed to watch a time to sin,
|
|
ayns aght doaltattym ren eh putt ’chur da;
ceaut ayns yn awin va’n fer ren ad ’leeideil,
|
approached the careless guide, and thrust him in;
|
|
e chione cheet rish lurg da ve er sinkeil;
son tammylt ren eh streppey noon as noal,
|
plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head,
|
|
goll dys y ghrunt, e vioghys ren eh ’choayl.
|
then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead.
|
|
Er shen ren shilley’n hermit keoi chyndaa
|
Wild, sparkling rage inflames the father’s eyes,
|
|
ceau aggle jeh lesh siyr as eulys gra:
|
he bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries,
|
|
“O ghreih feohdoil!”—gyn fockle arragh rait
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“Detested wretch!” —but scarce his speech began,
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tra va ’chumraag gys cummey noa chyndait,
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when the strange partner seemed no longer man:
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dy ghow eh oaie caslys dy viljid share,
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his youthful face grew more serenely sweet;
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e choamrey gial sheese coodagh gys y laare,
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his robe turned white, and flowed upon his feet,
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e olt ceau goullyn sollys veih e vaare,
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fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair;
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va miljid flaunyssagh mygeayrt ’syn aer,
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celestial odours breathe through purpled air;
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as er e ghreeym va skianyn skeayley lhean
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and wings, whose colours glittered on the day,
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ayns soilshey’n ghrian dy mirrillagh soilshean.
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wide at his back their gradual plumes display.
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[see 222-3]
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the form ethereal bursts upon his sight,
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and moves in all the majesty of light.
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Ga feer ard hoshiaght corree’n Bwaagaght va,
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Though loud at first the pilgrim’s passion grew,
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ayns tulIogh v’eh ny host gyn veg dy ghra;
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sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do;
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e hooillyn cur-my-ner yn corp gloyroil
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skellal ayns gloyr dy hoilshey myr v’eh goll,
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va yindys freayll e ghoan kianlt ayns pryssoon,
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surprise in secret chains his words suspends,
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e chorree siyragh neesht gaase feagh as kiune.
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and in a calm his settling temper ends.
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Eisht loayr yn ainle; dy chlashtyn e choraa
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But silence here the beauteous angel broke,
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va eunyssagh, as shoh myr ren e gra:
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(the voice of music ravished as he spoke).
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“Dty vooise, dty phadjer, as dty vea dyn foill
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“Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown,
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hrog seose ayns cooinaght villish roish y stoyl,
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in sweet memorial rise before the throne:
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soit jeh ayns rheamyn gial ny flaunyssee,
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these charms, success in our bright region find,
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hug ainle neose hood dy chiuinaghey dty chree.
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and force an angel down, to calm thy mind;
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Son shen haink mish er chaghteraght veih niau,
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for this commissioned, I forsook the sky:
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sheshey-sharvaant mee –ny cur ooashley dou!
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nay, cease to kneel —thy fellow-servant I.
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“Jeh reiltys niau lhig toiggal cooie ve ayd
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“Then know the truth of government divine,
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as da dooyteilys ny cur arragh raad;
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and let these scruples be no longer thine.
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da’n Ooilley-niartal ta yn chairys smoo
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“The maker justly claims that world he made,
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dy reill yn seihll shen ren eh hene y ’chroo;
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in this the right of providence is laid;
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e ard-ooashley flaunyssagh ta neesht goardrail
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its sacred majesty through all depends
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caghlaaghyn saase dy obbraghey ’chiarail;
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on using second means to work his ends:
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myr shoh ass roshtyn deiney er yn ooir
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’tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye,
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t’eh jannoo ’aigney lesh roih yesh e phooar,
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the power exerts his attributes on high,
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as gobbragh liorish obbraghyn sheelnaue,
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your actions uses, nor controls your will,
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ga rheamys aigney t’eh dy lowal daue.
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and bids the doubting sons of men be still.
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Vaik oo rieau yindys smoo rish slane dty vea
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“What strange events can strike with more surprise,
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na ren dty hooillyn ’akin jiu as jea?
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than those which lately strook thy wondering eyes?
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Cairagh, gow rish, ta’n Ooilley-niartal reill,
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yet taught by these, confess the almighty just,
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as raad nagh vod oo toiggal, jean treishteil!
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and where you can’t unriddle, learn to trust!
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“Yn dooinney mooar, va’n beaghey deyr ny hie,
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“The great, vain man, who fared on costly food,
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va ’vea ro hoaillagh dy ve dooinney mie;
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whose life was too luxurious to be good;
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raad va ny siyn dy airh soilshean dy bwee,
dy aghtal soit er stuill dy ivoree,
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who made his ivory stands with goblets shine,
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moghey ’sy vadran raad va’n mainshtyr hene
cuirrey ny goaldee d’iu jeh sonnys feeyn;
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and forced his guests to morning draughts of wine,
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marish y cappan chaill eh’n cliaghtey moal,
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has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost,
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nish goaill rish troailtee lesh ny sloo dy choayl.
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and still he welcomes, but with less of cost.
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‘‘Yn dreih peajeogagh, creoi, drogh-ouryssagh,
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“The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door
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nagh ren e ghorrys ’osley rieau da’n voght,
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ne’er moved in duty to the wandering poor;
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hooar eh yn cappan son dy chur da fys
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with him I left the cup, to teach his mind
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cre’n aght ta Niau bannaghey giastyllys.
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that Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind.
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Fakin yn gioot, toiggal eh ayns e chree
nagh row eh toilliu lheid er aght erbee,
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Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl,
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as shoh myr nee eh gennaght dy breeoil
e annym dy ve booisal as chymmoil.
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and feels compassion touch his grateful soul.
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Myr ta’n fer-keirdey meelagh liorish schlei
meain-leoaie, ny hrustyr, t’eh cur er dy lheie,
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Thus artists melt the sullen oar of lead,
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cruin er e chione t’eh chymsaghey carnane
smarageyn jiarg, ta lostey lesh tharmane,
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with heaping coals of fire upon its head;
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gynsagh yn stoo dy veelagh lesh y chiass,
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in the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,
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as, lheie, heese fo ta’n argid glen roie ass.
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and loose from dross, the silver runs below.
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“Nyn garrey reiht va foddey ’r hirveish Jee,
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“Long had our pious friend in virtue trod,
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va’n lhiannoo tayrn er-shaghryn voish e chree,
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but now the child half-weaned his heart from God;
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lhiannoo e eash, va wheesh dy voggey da,
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(child of his age) for him he lived in pain,
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reesht gys yn seihll e aigney v’eh chyndaa;
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and measured back his steps to earth again.
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e chree va lhiantyn huggey harrish cair,
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To what excesses had his dotage run!
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ghow Jee yn mac son dy hauail yn ayr.
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but God, to save the father, took the son.
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V’ad ooilley shein ayns fyt dy dooar eh baase,
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To all but thee, in fits he seemed to go,
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mish hug y builley ren gansoor y saase,
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(and ’twas my ministry to deal the blow).
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son nish ta’n ayr ginjillagh eh hene ’sy joan,
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The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust,
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goaill-rish yn smaght ymmyrchagh er e hon.
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now owns in tears the punishment was just.
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“Agh cre’n treih-artys v’er jeet er e hie
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“But how had all his fortune felt a wrack,
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beagh e harvaant er gheddyn back dy mie!
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had that false servant sped in safety back!
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V’eh kiarit noght dy hyndaa magh e noid,
dy varroo ’vainshtyr as dy ghoaill e chooid;
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This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal,
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beagh yn traitoorys cheddin er jeet lesh
giastyllys vooar va er ny lhiettal eisht!
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and what a fund of charity would fail!
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Myr shoh t’ou er dty ynsagh, gow ayns shee,
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“Thus Heaven instructs thy mind: this trial o’er,
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as ny jean peccah reesht er oyr erbee.”
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depart in peace, resign, and sin no more.”
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Skianyn yn ainle chelleeragh eisht ren feiyr
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On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew,
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myr ren e getlagh seose ’syn aer lesh siyr;
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the sage stood wondering as the seraph flew.
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yn hermit gyindys myr va, keayrt dy row,
|
thus looked Elisha, when, to mount on high
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Elisha tra hie ’vainshtyr seose gys niau,
|
his master took the chariot of the sky;
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ayns fainagh aileagh goll er e yurnaa;
|
the fiery pomp ascending left the view;
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v’eh ’r gholl er ’eiyrt, beagh rheamys currit da.
|
the prophet gazed, and wished to follow too.
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Eisht ghlioon yn hermit, gra, “D’row aigney Yee
|
The bending hermit here a prayer begun,
|
|
jeant liorish deiney, myr ny flaunyssee.”
|
“Lord! as in Heaven, on Earth thy will be done!”
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Eisht gys e chummal hie eh, raad va ’oayll,
|
Then gladly turning, sought his antient place,
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|
as leeid eh bea dy chraueeaght sheeoil.
|
and passed a life of piety and peace.
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FINIS
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