Duine gan dinéar beirt gan suipéar

A man without dinner is two for supper

Fiche bliain ar teacht, fiche bliain ar stá, fiche bliain ar meath, agus fiche bliain gur chuma ann nó as

Twenty years growing, twenty blowing, twenty going, and twenty neither in nor out of it

This is the mystic language heard of old,

In ancient Éirinn, when the enchanted Sí

Danced to weird music over glen and lea:

When Oisín’s born awakened bill and wold.

Nestled amidst the verdant expanse of the Gagetown plateau, bordered by the majestic Wolastoq (Saint John River) on its northern and eastern fringes, lay a landscape teeming with stories of resilience, heritage, and loss.

Anocht táim im’ shuí ar an dtráigh mar fadó, do shuíos-sa le grá geal mo chroí

Tonight I am sitting on the beach as long ago, when I sat with the bright love of my heart

The primeval language of man, of which the Keltic is a dialect, brings us back to the period before the human family had emigrated from the first home wherein they had settled.

A linbh bán dheas, my bright-haired child,

Sleep, sweetly sleep, oh, the white lamb mild

Bhí obair mhór ag dul ar aghaidh sa ghleann seo agus bhí shliocht air.

There was big work going on in this valley and there was the mark of it.

I had long been endeavouring to secure some folklore and old stories from the [Wolastoqiyik], who dwell along the Saint John [Wolastoq] and other inland rivers in New Brunswick…

Spent the last three months mar dúras thuas go fíor pléisiúrtha. The best things were the shooting, the skating and the parties. I shot 11 woodcock one day to my own fun, and went on many expeditions with a Mr Iverton, an Englishman who was a banker & is an officer now.

Is dubhach a bhíonn gach oíche is ló, óchón! mo bhrón!

Ag smaoineadh ar na bearta crua, óchón! mo bhrón!

Gloomy is every night and day, alas! my sorrow!

Thinking on the hard actions, alas! my sorrow!

Displaying the Irish language manuscript collection of Edward Murphy, Montréal, Québec

Figure Name Sound

Aa Ailm a

Bb Beith b

Cc Coll, Ceith k

A fhíorchlanna Gaeil Glais dhon tsaorfhuil ba chalma, laochas a ndearg túis baoil

Oh true green Gaels of free blood most brave, of true valour at dangers start

Aréir im luí dhom go tréith, lag, sínte ag déanamh smaoineadh ar néaltaibh suain

Last night lying feebly, weak, stretched thinking while having a small rest

A Ghaeilic mhín mhilis! a bhinnghuth na hÉireann! Nach brónach faoi theidhm thú! nach sochtach, nach cian!

Oh smooth, gentle Gaelic! Oh melodious voice of Ireland! Aren’t you sorrowful under pestilence! Isn’t it deeply emotional, isn’t it sad!

A Ghaeilic mhín mhilis! a bhinnghuth na hÉireann! Nach brónach faoi theidhm thú! nach sochtach, nach cian!

Oh smooth, gentle Gaelic! Oh melodious voice of Ireland! Aren’t you sorrowful under pestilence! Isn’t it deeply emotional, isn’t it sad!

Is trua gan mhis’ i m’eala, do ghluaisfinnse abhaile

It is a pity I am not a swan, I would travel home

In a future notice we may treat of other mythological and historical names in our ancient history; at present we will briefly consider the Ogham Inscription published in the Dublin Nation, of the 14th of May, 1859.

Mo chéad míle slán leat, ‘ fhíoráras na féile! A shuaircinis aoibhinn! A dhúchais na nGael

Fare thee well, twenty thousand times, land of the Gael! Wherein pleasure and plenty with welcome were found