OWL 



315 



'S buan an comunn gun bhristeadh, 

 Bha eatar mise 's an t uisge, 

 Sugh na raor bheann gun mhisge. 

 Mise ga 61 gun traisgeadh. 



'S ann a bha an comunn bristeach, 

 Eatar mise 's a chreag sheilich, 

 Mise gu brath cha dirich, 

 Ise go dilinn cha teirinn. 



Lasting was the connection, unbroken 

 Between me and this pure stream. 

 The juice of the lofty hills, that re- 

 freshes without intoxication, 

 Which I drunk in abundance without 

 satiety. 



Alas ! the communication is now 



broken off 

 Between me and the beloved rock of 



willows, 

 To it I can no longer rise — 

 To me it will never bend. 



O labhair mi umaibh gu leir. 

 Gabhaidh mi fhein dibh mo chead, 

 Dearmad cha dean mi san am, 

 Air fiaghach ghleann na'm beann 



beag. 



Cead is truaighe ghabhas riabh. 

 Do 'n fhiaghach ba mhor mo thoil, 

 Cha 'n fhalbh le bogha fui' m' sgeth, 

 'S gu la bhrath cha leig mi coin. 



Haunts of my youth, I have now 



addressed you all, 

 UnwilHngly do I take my leave of 



you— 

 Of you and your swift inhabitants — 

 The deer of the deep glens between 



the little hills. 



The most sorrowful farewell that ever 



was taken 

 Of the deer in whom was my great 



dehght, 

 I shall never go with bow 'neath my 



shield. 

 Or ever more direct the hounds. 



Mise a's tusa ghadhair bhain, 

 'S tursach ar turas do 'n ealain. 

 Chain sinn an tathunn a's an dan, 

 Ge d' bha sinn grathunn re ceanal. 



Thug a choiUe dhiotsa an earb', 

 'S thug an t ard dhiomsa na feigh, 

 Cha n eil naire dhuinn a laoich, 

 O'n laidh an aois oirnn le cheil'. 



Aois cha n'eil u meachair, 

 Ge nach feadar leinn do sheachnadh, 

 Cromaidh tu 'n duine direach, 

 A dh' fhas gu mileanta gasda. 



Gearraichidh tu a shaoghal, 

 A's caolaichidh tu 'chasan, 

 Fagaidh tu cheann gun deadach, 

 'S ni u eadunn a chasadh. 



A shine chasaodunnach, pheallach, 

 A shream-shuileach, odhar, eididh, 

 Cia ma 'n leiginn leat a lobhair. 

 Mo bhogha toirt dhiom air eiginn. 



I and thou, my white dog. 

 Mournful are our steps in the wonted 



track. 

 We have lost the bay and the song. 

 Though we were once most cheerful. 



The thick wood has taken from you 



the roe — 

 The steepy height has taken from me 



the stag. 

 Yet are we not disgraced, my hero ! 

 For age has fallen upon us both. 



Unkind art thou. Old Age ! 

 Though we cannot avoid thy grasp. 

 Thou bendestthe man erect in stature. 

 That grew stately and warrior-like. 



His days thou shortenest, 

 His limbs thou les'senest. 

 His head thou deprivest of teeth, 

 His countenance thou changest with 

 wrinkles. 



Thou spectre ! wrinkled, tattered, vile. 

 Blear-eyed, dun-coloured, listless. 

 Why, thou leper ! should I permit 



thee, 

 To take away my bow by violence ? 



