Cork Irish

These two words seem well and truly mixed up in modern Irish, probably due to their similar or identical pronunciation:

Cóir would be /ko:rʹ/.
Cómhair would be rather /kõ:rʹ/, with a nasal vowel.

PUL was at any rate convinced these words were pronounced differently (see his Notes on Irish Words and Usages: “there is a full nasal sound in cómhair which it is impossible to mistake for cóir”); however, nasalisation is not a distinguishing feature of present-day Cork Irish. The Irish of West Muskerry showed that Amhlaoibh Ó Loingsigh, noted for his careful pronunciation, did not distinguish these words, and I don’t believe these words are pronounced differently in Muskerry today.

Niall Ó Dónaill’s dictionary claims that cómhair should only be used in the prepositional phrases i gcómhair, “for” and os cómhair, “in front, before”. However, this is unsatisfactory, as such phrases contain nouns in the dative, and so the question remains as to what the noun in the expressions is and how that should be spelt when not found in those phrases.

I am not a fan of Ó Dónaill’s dictionary, which contains thousands of fabricated words, in addition to giving historically incorrect word morphology that fails to correspond to any living dialect either. Could it be that i gcómhair “for” is spelt thus in his dictionary to create a nuance of difference with i gcóir, “in right order, ready”? Did Ó Dónaill have any knowledge or evidence of the origin of these phrases, and did he base his choices on such knowledge? Or did he adopt an arbitrary approach to differentiate certain phrases?

If we turn to Dinneen’s dictionary, we find that cóir means “right, justice, fair play; instrument, proper arrangement”. I gcóir is given as meaning “justly, ready, aright”. Cómhair means “presence”, with os mo chómhair logically meaning “in front of me”. Dinneen gives do chómhair for “near”, and not de chóir: the de of Standardised Irish might seem more logical here, but by the same token Dinneen’s association of the word with cómhair also makes more sense. By contrast, Ó Dónaill seems to mix things up by given two separate words spelt cóir, one meaning “justice; proper provision or equipment” and the other meaning “nearness”. But if cóír means “nearness”, why does he not spell os cómhair os cóir? Or if it is os cómhair, why is it not de chómhair?

PUL disagrees with both Dinneen and Ó Dónaill. He also shows the meaning of cóir in Notes on Irish Words and Usages as “means” or “equipment”, and gives the meaning of cómhair as “presence”. But he argues that the phrase written i gcómhair by Dinneen (and adopted in Standardised Irish) should be i gcóir: in other words i gcóir meaning “for” derives from a word meaning “means, equipment, fair share” and not from a word meaning “presence”. His comment that cómhair and cóir are pronounced differently is given directly in the context of his discussion of i gcóir, showing that he did not have a nasal vowel in this phrase. He shows the contrast between cóir and cómhair thus:

Tá do chuid os do chómhair amach: your share is before you.
Tá do chuid id chóir: your share has been put by for you.

It seems there are two issues here: one is one of pronunciation, and the other is of etymology. PUL may be saying that i gcóir is definitely pronounced i gcóir and not i gcómhair. But whether he has the etymology right is other thing, as the Dictionary of the Irish Language, a dictionary of early Irish, seems to show i gcómhair, although the two words seem to have been confused at an early date.

Maybe no one really knows the etymology of these phrases for sure. But PUL was firmly of the view that we should write os cómhair but i gcóir. The late 17th century work in Cork Irish, Párliament na mBan, has fád chomhair, “awaiting you” in Brian Ó Cuív’s glossary, but a ccóir (old spelling for i gcóir), “in preparation for”. It is possible the etymology is from i gcómhair, but that the word has come to be understood as “in preparation for” in Cork Irish. It is also possible, as Dinneen indicates, that there are two phrases, i gcóir, “in preparation for, ie ready”, and i gcómhair, “for, waiting for”, whose meanings were so close that they became aligned in the speech even of those old speakers who had strong nasalisation, leading to PUL’s strong conviction that i gcómhair must be from cóir and not cómhair.

Here is another letter from PUL to Gearóid Ó Nualláin, explaining why it is incorrect in Irish to say tá bó agam á marú, despite the fact that bó is feminine.

Caisleán Ua Liatháin, i gCo. Chorcaí.

23-11-1914.

A Athair Gearóid, a chara,

Táid na nótaí curtha i nGaelainn agam anois chómh fada amach le Caibidil a trí den Leitir chun na bhPhilippiánach. Nuair a bheid siad go léir déanta agam, cuirfead ag triall ort iad, agus féadfair iad a chur i dteannta an text go dtí go mbeidh am agat ar an gcuid eile den Tiomna Nua do chur amach os cómhair na poiblíochta. D’fhéachas trí sna nithe beaga so a chuiris chúm. Ní bhfaighinn puínn aon locht do cheartú iontu. Tá ana-thairbhe anois ’na leithéidíbh. Taispeánaid siad ceart na cainnte, cuir i gcás, ‘Tá seasamh san aimsir.’ Táid daoine anois ag scrí’ na Gaelainne, agus is fada a bheidís ag cuardach sara gcuímhneóidís ar an abairt sin, mar Ghaelainn ar ‘There is a settled steadiness in the weather.’ Táid na ráite sin agatsa lán de choraibh beaga cainnte den tsórd san.

Tá ní beag agam le múineadh dhuit as do leitir féin. ‘Táim ag cur roinnt rudaí beaga chút,’ adeirir. Níl aon locht ar an gcainnt sin mar a sheasaíonn sí. Is uiriste d’éinne a dh’fheiscint gur tuiseal giniúnach ‘roinnt rudaí beaga’ fé chumas an fhocail ‘ag cur.’ Ach mar sin féin do rithfeadh an chainnt níos feárr ar an gcuma so, féach: ‘Tá roinnt rudaí beaga agam á chur chút.’ Dá mbeadh ainmniú fada ar ‘an roinnt rudaí beaga’ chífá féin gur saoráidí go mór an chuma san adeirim ná an chuma eile. Féach—‘Táim ag cur caíora agus bó agus gamhain baineann agus uan atá dhá mhí d’aois chút.’ Tá cheithre focail déag ansan sa ní atá ’na thuiseal giniúnach! Féach féin gur saoráidí go mór a ritheann an chainnt ar an gcuma so: ‘Tá caíora agus bó agus gamhain baineann agus uan atá dhá mhí d’aois agam á chur chút.’ Nú mar seo eile: ‘Tá caíora agam á chur chút, agus bó agus gamhain baineann, agus uan atá dhá mhí d’aois.’ Is deise an tslí dheireanach san féin ná an tslí roimis sin.

Tá an dá shaghas Gaelainne seo ceart:—

1.Táim ag treabhadh na páirce.
2.Tá an pháirc agam á threabhadh.

Leanaid na ráite fada uimhir a dó. Féadann an rá geárr aon cheann acu do leanúint. Is é mo thaithíse (my experience) nách féidir rá fada do chumadh ar aon tslacht, má leantar uimhir a haon.

Déarfaid daoine leat go bhfuil cleas éigin agamsa (some happy knack) ar mo chuid Gaelainne do chur síos ar an gcuma is réidhe ’na rithfeadh sí. Tá, gan amhras, an cleas san agam, agus ní cleas ródheocair é. I rogha bhaint as rudaí de shaghas an dá rud san thuas atá an chuid is mó den chleas. Nithe beaga den tsaghas céanna is ea an chuid eile den chleas, leis. Déarfaid daoine leat—dúradar liom féin é—nách Gaelainn cheart, ‘tá an pháirc agam á threabhadh’; gur ceart ‘tá an pháirc agam á treabhadh’ do rá, toisc ‘páirc’ a bheith baineann. Abair leó go bhfuil breall orthu! Tá breall riamh ar an muíntir a bhíonn ag cur dlíthe na Laidine i bhfeidhm ar an nGaelainn. Sin í an obair a chuir amú riamh iad, agus atá dhá gcur amú anois, leis.

Bhí Peadar Ó hAnnracháin anso lá, agus chuir sé an cheist chúm:—

“An Gaelainn cheart—‘Tá an pháirc agam á threabhadh’?”

“Is Gaelainn cheart,” arsa mise.

“Agus cad mar gheall ar an bhfocal ‘páirc’ a bheith baineann?” ar seisean.

“Is cuma fireann nú baineann é,” arsa mise, “an fhaidh atá ‘agam’ idir é agus an ‘treabhadh.’”

“Is ait an scéal é sin,” ar seisean. “Chuireas an cheist chun m’athar,” ar seisean. “D’fhiafraíos de cad í an Ghaelainn a chuirfeadh sé ar ‘when I was killing the cow!’” “Nuair a bhí an bhó agam á mharú,” ar seisean. “Nár chóir,” arsa mise leis, “gur chirte a rá, ‘nuair a bhí an bhó agam á marú,’ toisc ‘bó’ a bheith baineann?” Do stad sé ar feadh tamaill. “Is dócha go bhfuil an ceart agat,” ar seisean. “Ní raibh an ceart agat,” arsa mise le Peadar. “Bhí an ceart agat athair, ach ní raibh sé ábalta ar an gceart do chur i bhfeidhm id choinnibhse, agus do scaoil sé leat.”

Anois, a Athair Gearóid, ná leogse do dhaoinibh an éagóir do chur i bhfeidhm ort. Abair ‘tá an pháirc agam á threabhadh,’ agus má deir éinne go bhfuil an éagóir agat, abair leis go bhfuil breall air. Nú abair leis, mar aduartsa le duine acu uair—‘Those things is’ is good Greek, and ‘those things are’ is wretchedly bad Greek. Why don’t you go and correct the Greek? Because you dare not! But you think you are at liberty to do what you like when dealing with Irish! D’fhágas ansan é.

Do chara go buan,

Peadar Ua Laoghaire.

An undated letter from PUL to Gearóid Ó Nualláin, quoted in the latter’s autobiography, Beatha Dhuine a Thoil [spelling modernised by me]:

Caisleán Ua Liatháin, i gCo. Chorcaí.

A Athair Gearóid, a chara,

Is dócha go bhfuarais na nótaí úd. Ní dócha go raibh aon bhaol dul amú orthu, mar do chuireas fé chúntas (registered) iad. Do léas an tseanmóin úd a thugais uait Lá Fhéile Pádraig. Chuir duine chúm í ó Bhaile Átha Cliath, agus chuir duine eile chúm í ó Chorcaigh. Do thaithn sí liom go hana-mhór. Is í blúire Gaelainne í is feárr dá bhfeaca fós ó éinne dár scrí’neóiríbh beó.

Tá aon fhocal amháin inti, áfach, agus ní mór dom focal do rá ’na thaobh. ’Sé focal é ná ‘A Phobail,’ in vocativo. Níor airíos riamh a béal sagairt é, ach aon uair amháin. ’Sé uair é sin, ná nuair a bhíos ag dul fé láimh Easpaig. Bhíos tímpall dhá bhliain déag d’aois an uair sin. Bhí sagart ag tabhairt seanmóna uaidh i láthair an Easpaig. Bhíos ag éisteacht leis. ‘A Phobail,’ ar seisean, nuair a bhí sé ag tosnú. ‘A Phobail’ adeireadh sé i gcaitheamh na seanmóna nuair a labhradh sé linn. Bhí iúnadh orm féin cad ’na thaobh do ‘A Phobail’ do rá, nú cad ’na thaobh ná deireadh sé ‘A Phobal,’ mar adeireadh na sagairt go raibh aithne agam orthu. Thuigeas im aigne, áfach, agus me ag éisteacht leis, gurbh é cúis do ‘A Phobail,’ a rá, ná trí pobail do bheith ann, pobal Chluandrochad agus pobal Charraig an Ime, agus pobal Bhaile Mhúirne. Thuigeas gurbh ionann ‘A Phobail’ as a bhéal agus ‘Ye Congregations.’ Bhí m’aigne sásta leis sin. Ní raibh aon eólas agam an uair sin ar ‘vocative’ ná ar ‘nominative’ ach bhí ’ fhios agam nárbh fhéidir ‘A Phobail’ a rá, muna mbeadh na pobail a bheith ann. Níorbh fhéidir ‘A Phobail’ a rá le haon phobal amháin, ach oiread agus dob fhéidir a rá mar seo, féach: —

“Cad ’tá ag an bpobal á dhéanamh?” “Tá sé ar a ghlúinibh!” “Táid siad ar a nglúinibh,” an freagra ceart. “Cad ’tá ag an bpobal á dhéanamh anois?” “Tá sé ’na sheasamh!” “Táid said ’na seasamh,” an freagra ceart. Nuair a thosnaíos ar Ghaelainn a lé’ a leabhraibh, do thuigeas go maith cad é an chúis don tsagart úd “A Phobail” do rá linn. Chonaic sé sa leabhar é, agus ní raibh neart aigne a dhóthain aige chun a rá leis an leabhar dul in ainm an Diabhail!

You can’t use a vocative singular for pobal (unless you wish to have all the old speakers I ever knew shaking their heads at it) any more than you can say ‘tú’ to a congregation. If you could say ‘A Phobail’ why could you not say—‘An bhfuil tú ag éisteacht liom, a Phobail?’ . . . . .

’Sea! Tá an méid sin ráite agam anois, agus tá m’aigne sásta, agus tá súil agam go bhfuilirse go leathan láidir, agus gura fada amhlaidh duit!

Mise, do chara,

Peadar Ua Laoghaire.

Note that Clondrohid appears here as pobal Chluandrochad, and Cluandrochad is also the form found in PUL’s Mo Sgéal Féin. It is normally found as Cluain Droichead, but it is possible PUL had a broad n in this word; as a native of Clondrohid he would have known the pronunciation well. Also note that the vocative plural is in theory formed by dropping -ibh from the dative plural, and so the vocative plural should be a phobla! But real examples of use will be rare, and it may be the PUL could only interpret a phobail as a vocative plural due to the fact that the vocative singular is a phobal.

Dr. Sheehan’s Gabha na Coille.

Letter from Canon Peter O’Leary to the Editor of The Freeman’s Journal.

Castlelyons, Co. Cork.

March 16th, 1915.

Dear Sir,

I have just seen the latest little book by the Rev Dr Sheehan, named Gabha na Coille. Every little book of Dr Sheehan’s composing is an extraordinary piece of workmanship. There is always a preface; and the preface is not the least extraordinary part of the workmanship. In the preface there is always an assumption of rule over the Irish language, by which an attempt is made to justify the practical enforcement of these little writings as the standard of Irish and Irish literature for the youth of the country.

Throughout the civilised world literature grows out of the life of a people, out of the free play of their minds, and out of the free use of their own speech.

Here in Ireland, though there were few Irish books printed in the last three centuries, the life of the people went on, the language went on with that life, and it went on with a good deal of oral cultivation.

I was born into that speech in 1839. I have lived in it and with it all my life. As a child I knew the old songs and stories. I have read it from my boyhood. For years I have been writing it.

Irish is my native speech and I am a native speaker of Irish. But I find that on questions touching the forms of the language, questions of a nature to be decided by native usage and native knowledge, my testimony is set aside, for although I am a native speaker I am not illiterate and I am not dead.

It seems that it is only dead native speakers or illiterate native speakers whose speech is to be trusted, and of illiterate native speakers those only are to be trusted whose speaking and manner of speaking are under the direction of Dr Sheehan. Dr Sheehan is to be the censor and the ultimate judge of correct Irish speech. Over and over again this claim of domination over the speech is made in the prefaces to Dr Sheehan’s books. In describing the making up of pieces in Cnó Coilleadh Craobhaighe Dr Sheehan says

they were composed by native speakers under the direction of Pádraig Ó Cadhla or myself. We suggested the several themes and their treatment, and exercised a censorship over the Irish with a view to excluding anglicised turns of expression.

In his preface to Arthrach an Óir Dr Sheehan says (writing in Irish):

Patrick O’Dore of Ring gave me these stories. . . . . . I myself helped him to compose them, but even if I did, it is not my language but his own that is in them. When we first composed them, we left them unwritten for a year, so that there should be no trace of my language upon them.

What is the purpose of these “compositions”?

Year by year they are forced on young students by being placed in the courses of the Intermediate Board.

Why?

Dr Sheehan is Professor of Greek at Maynooth. How would the Chairman of the Intermediate Board like to see Dr Sheehan’s Greek scholarship applied to the annual production of an imitation, let us say, of a comedy of Aristophanes? And the Chairman of the Intermediate Board, although a Greek scholar, is not a Greek. I am an Irishman, and can I be expected to countenance in Irish what Dr Starkie would not tolerate in Greek?

The fact is that in matters concerning the Irish language, an inversion of the natural order of things is taken as a matter of course, and has been the law followed since Father O’Growney left The Gaelic Journal. Father O’Growney was a learner who treated the language with respect; who worked for it, and served it, and died for it. When he had gone to America, learners with a taste for domineering tried to lord it over the language and to make it serve them. They blighted the language movement. They necessarily introduced confusion into the administration of any educational system that had the misfortune of their presence or assistance.

In the preface to Dr Sheehan’s latest little book there is a very good example of this inversion of order. Dr Sheehan takes four ordinary Irish sentences and holds them up as examples of obscure and unintelligible construction, and explains and accounts for them incorrectly.

I will take the first of these sentences chuaigh dá gcuid fíona, because it happens to have been used by me in my translation of the Gospel from the Missal published in 1902. It occurs in the Gospel according to St. John, ch. ii, v. 3, in the narrative of the marriage in Cana of Galilee. There is nothing obscure in the phrase. It means “their wine failed,” or “ran short.” The literal English of it is, “there ‘went from’ their supply of wine”; i.e., it became small; it diminished. The Irish form chuaigh de, “there went from it,” is indigenous Irish. It have been listening to it during seventy years and have heard it constantly out of the mouths of Irish speakers, many of whom had never spoken a word of English. It runs through all the moods and tenses.

For example:—

PRESENT.

Tá ag dul dá gcuid fíona=there is going from their supply of wine; i.e., their wine is failing.

Bíonn ag dul dá gcuid fíona=there wine does be failing.

Téann dá gcuid fíona=their wine (usually) fails.

PAST.

Do chuaigh dá gcuid fíona=their wine failed.

Bhí ag dul dá gcuid fíona=their wine was failing.

Bhíodh ag dul dá gcuid fíona=their wine used to be failing.

Do théadh dá gcuid fíona=their wine used to fail (on certain occasions).

I remember an old song which I used to hear sung by children over seventy years ago:—

Má théann dem ghadharaibh
Béarfad Bran agus Fly liom,
Lily mheidhreach agus
Finder bán.

If there goes from my dogs (if I run short of dogs),
I will take Bran and Fly with me,
Lily, the merry, and
Finder, the white.

If a person was getting old, so as to be losing his wits, people said tá ag dul dá chiall=“there is going from (something being lost from) his wits”.

If a man were running a race, and that he collapsed in the middle of the race, people said chuaigh dá neart=“there went from his strength”; i.e., “his strength failed”.

If there were water in a vessel, and that it was growing less on account of the evaporation, people would say tá ag dul de=“there is going from it”; i.e., “it is diminishing”.

And so on. In fact the people’s speech is full of it.

The little book of the Gospel from the Missal, in which I used the phrase chuaigh dá gcuid fíona has been in circulation for some thirteen years. If Dr Sheehan had wanted to know the meaning of the expression I could have explained it to him at any time during those thirteen years if he had asked me. Instead of doing that, he makes a guess that chuaigh dá gcuid fíona seems to have been suggested by the literal English rendering of do chuaigh díom a dhéanamh. But that is quite another form of expression, which is so entirely different from the first, both in meaning and in structure, that no native Irish speaker could possibly see any approach to identity between the two. Here are some examples of that other form:—

Do chuaigh díom é ’ dhéanamh=it went from me to do it; i.e., it was beyond my power to do it.

Or let us use a pronoun of the third person, and say, do chuaigh de é ’ dhéanamh=“to do it went from him”; i.e., to do it went beyond him, beyond his strength.

Let us suppose the pronoun in de to be neuter, representing a motor for example, and a certain hill was too stiff and the motor was not able to get up to the top of it. Then it would be said of the motor, do chuaigh de é ’ dhéanamh=“it (the motor) failed to do it”; or “it failed it (the motor) to do it.”

Now we have the words in the right order for the two forms in that one sentence, and we can divide it into two sentences, namely—

1. do chuaigh de é ’ dhéanamh.
2. do chuaigh de.

The meaning of the first sentence is “it failed to do it”; i.e., it did not succeed.

The meaning of the second sentence is “it failed”; i.e., it diminished, or, became small.

The first implies no decrease in the strength of the motor, but only that the opposing force was too great for it.

The second sentence says nothing about an opposing force. It merely states that something got small; that some part of it went from it.

In the first sentence é ’ dhéanamh is the nominative case to do chuaigh. In the second sentence there is no nominative case at all.

The literal English of the second sentence is “there went from it,” i.e., “some of it disappeared”. There are many ways of expressing the loss; it “became small”, or “diminished”, or “exhausted”; it “failed”, “ran short”, “got low”, etc., etc.

If a person knowing Latin will look into the matter he will perceive a striking resemblence between deficiente vino and chuaidh dá gcuid fíona.

I think it is a strange thing for people who cannot see the difference between chuaigh dá gcuid fíona and do chuaigh díom é ’ dhéanamh to attempt to explain Irish language difficulties.

But it has been so from the beginning. People who never heard a word of Irish spoken go and learn a little Irish, and then, the moment they think they understand a little of the language, they proceed to explain all about it to those who have been speaking it all their lives. They would not dare to do that with regard to French, or with regard to any other language which was foreign to them. It is a sad thing to see the Irish language at the mercy of such people.

PETER O’LEARY, P.P.

Note: published in The Freeman’s Journal, Dublin, March 17th, 1915, page 7. The Dr Sheehan referred to is Michael Sheehan (also known as Mícheál Ó Síothcháin, a native of Waterford city; 1870-1945), vice-president of Maynooth College from 1919, and Archbishop of Sydney, Australia, from 1922. Dr Sheehan was noted for his collection of material on Waterford Irish, including Shean-Chaint na nDéise. His book, Cnó Coilleadh Craobhaighe, was subtitled “The Irish of the People”, possibly provoking PUL’s annoyance that Dr Sheehan did not allow the Irish of the People to stand as it should.

Shán Ó Cuív compiled a list of 487 works of PUL, including books, pamphets, articles, letters to journals. More than 400 were articles or letters in periodicals, but these included serialized versions of many of his longer works, including Sgéalaidheachta as an mBíobla Naomhtha. These were often accompanied by detailed explanations of grammar and vocabulary. The 487 do not include private letters unless they have been published in books or otherwise published in the public domain.

See here for my annotated list. I have not included the 418 periodical items, but all the books, pamphets and articles in edited books etc are all there with an indication of whether I have copies or not. I keep this list as I need to know without having to sort through my library if I possess a book or not – or I may buy it twice from a second-hand bookseller! I am very close to having all the main works and many of the incidental items too.

PUL’s translation of the Bible, apart from the published Gospels and Acts of the Apostles, are not among the 487, as they remain in manuscript only. If you add those on to the list you start to realise that he was the pivotal figure of the Gaelic Revival, with an unrivalled output. And yet only Séadna is available in a (relatively) faithful edition nowadays. Everything else is out of print, and has been for decades. [I am not included editions of Mo Sgéal Féin and Don Chíchóté that are a long way from being the original Cork Irish.]

To think that PUL only began publishing in Irish in his mid-50s! And yet he managed to achieve all this….

I found PUL’s translation of the Roman Catholic Marian hymn “O Mother, I could weep for mirth!”, which I think is also known as “Immaculate, Immaculate”, in Gearóid Ó Nualláin’s autobiography, Beatha Dhuine a Thoil. I had never heard of this hymn, but I believe it is well known as part of Irish heritage. The first verse and chorus of this hymn in English is:

O Mother! I could weep for mirth,
Joy fills my heart so fast;
My soul today is heaven on earth,
Oh could the transport last!

I think of thee, and what thou art,
Thy majesty, thy state;
And I keep singing in my heart—
Immaculate! Immaculate!

PUL seemed to dislike the English words. he wrote (in a letter, written in English, dated March 24th, 1919, which Ó Nualláin translates into Irish):

Roinnt laethanta ó shin fuaras leitir ón Athair Ailbhe, O.S.F.C., dhá iarraidh orm roinnt dánta diaga d’aistriú ó Bhéarla go Gaelainn. Ceann díobh san ab ea an dán san, ‘Immaculate, Immaculate.’ Duart leis ná féadfainn é sin aistriú go Gaelainn, mar ná raibh brí ná ciall leis. Má fhéachainn tú ar an ndán san chifidh tú ná fuil ann ach ‘ráiméis.’ ‘Oh! Mother, I could weep for mirth!’ Ní fhéadfainn ‘ráiméis’ d’aistriú go Gaelainn. ’Sé rud a dheineas, an ‘brí’ ba chóir a bheith sa Bhéarla a chur síos sa nGaelainn. Agus seo chút cóip dem dhánsa:—

1.

‘A Mháthair Aonmhic Dé na gcómhacht,
Táim lán de mhórtais croí,
Ag trácht im smaointe ar ní thar meóin,
Do ghabháilse, a Stór, gan teimheal!
A Ghin gan Teimheal,
A Ghin gan Teimheal,
Is iúnadh saeil tu i gceart!
A Ghin gan Teimheal,
Mo ghrá do chroí!
A Mháthair Rí na bhFeart!

[mórtais: high spirits, exultation
meóin: mind, whim, fancy
gabháil: to be conceived; teimheal: tarnish, stain; gan teimheal: immaculate, without stain of sin]

2.

‘Do fágadh daoine ag tíocht i mbrón
An bháis, le fóirneart fíll,
Do sháraigh Íosa an íde rómhatsa—
A Pháis ba ghlórmhar díon,
A Ghin gan Teimheal,
A Ghin gan Teimheal,
Is iúnadh Naomh tu ar Neamh,
Do thugais dóibh
An Slánaitheóir,
’S do’n chine daonna ar fad.

[tíocht: coming, arriving
fóirneart: brute force
íde: plight]

The meaning of do sháraigh Íosa an íde rómhatsa—, A Pháis ba ghlórmhar díon is unclear to me. If someone understands this, I would welcome help on this.

3.

‘Do mheall an annsprid meabhair na mná,
Chuaigh an nimh trí lár a croí,
Ach do chas an feall ar an namhaid i dtráth,
Den nimh dhein grá neamhní.
A Ghin gan Teimheal,
A Ghin gan Teimheall,
Is iúnadh deamhan tu, thíos!
Do shál ar cheann
An Rí go teann,
’S a tháinte fann dá dhruím!

[i dtráth: in due course
sál: heel, a reference to Mary crushing the serpent of Eden in the head
teann: firm?
táinte: wealth; fann: feeble]

The meaning of the final sentence here is also unclear to me.

4.

‘A Mháthair Aonmhic Dé na gcómhacht,
Táim lán de mhórtais croí,
Ag trácht im smaointe ar ní thar meóin,
Do ghabháilse, a Stór, gan teimheal!
A Ghin gan Teimheal,
A Ghin gan Teimheal,
Beir leat me suas chun Dé,
I radharc na soíllse,
I radharc an aoibhnis,
I radharc an TRÍR ’na nAON!’

The letter then goes on (in Ó Nualláin’s translation):

Níl aon ‘smaoineamh’ gur fiú trácht air sa ndán Béarla. Tá roinnt smaointe fé leith curtha síos agamsa. Ar an gcéad dul síos ‘iúnadh saeil’ ab ea an ghabháil gan teimheal. Ar an dtarna dul síos d’ ‘iúnadh Naomh ar Neamh’ í. Ansan, b’iúnadh uathásach do sna deamhanaibh atá in Ifreann thíos í. Tá dá bhrí leis an bhfocal Laidne Conceptio: ciallaíonn sé an ‘gníomh’ lena ngabhthar an ghin; agus ciallaíonn sé an ‘duine’ do gabhadh. Sa Ghaelainn, ‘gabháil’ is ea an gníomh, agus ‘gin’ is ea an duine. Fágann san gurb ionann ‘Gin gan Teimheal’ agus ‘Immaculate Conception,’ nuair a bhíonn tagairt a dhéanamh don Mhaighdean Ghlórmhair féin. Is minic d’airís an focal, ‘tá sé sin thar meóin ar fad!’

We know from The Irish of West Muskerry that Amhlaoibh Ó Loinsigh pronounced the present and future autonomous endings broad and the conditional and imperfect autonomous endings slender:

glantar, buailtear: /glɑntər, buəlʹtər/
glanfar, buailfear: /glɑnfər, buəlʹfər/
glanfaí, buailfí: /glɑnfʹi:, buəlʹfʹi:/
glantaí, buailtí: /glɑntʹi:, buəlʹtʹi:/

However, it is likely that the original pronunciations were rather, those indicated by the spellings.

Some indication of the pronunciations preferred by PUL is shown by the spellings in this works. There is always a question of whether an editor has intervened and changed his preferences, but I notice this letter from PUL to Gearóid Ó Nualláin, quoted in his autobiography, Beatha Dhuine a Thoil (pages 137-138):

I have never heard, e.g., buailfear. What I have heard is buailfar, with the l slender and the f as broad as it is in ólfair. But I have always heard buailtear. I dare say some people have heard buailtar. If they have, then they ought to write buailtar, and then we should know that they have heard it.

Interestingly, PUL clearly does not have the same pronunciation as AÓL in the present autonomous. We may write PUL’s choices thus:

glantar, buailtear: /glɑntər, buəlʹtʹər/
glanfar, buailfear: /glɑnfər, buəlʹfər/

However, PUL consistently wrote curtar and curfar for what would nowadays be cuirtar and cuirfar. It seems clear that he did have a broad rt and rf in both of these words: /kurtər, kurfər/.

In the conditional autonomous PUL’s works are less consistent, with both -faí and -fí found in spelling. But the slender -fí in aithneófí /a’nʹho:fʹi:/ points to a slender pronunciation across the board. Note that he wrote both curfaí and curfí, but probably had a slender rf in this word, /kur’fʹi:/.

In the imperfect autonomous PUL consistently used a slender ending. Note the spellings curtí /kur’tʹi:/ and ceannaítí /kʹa’ni:tʹi:/ (ceannuightí in the original spelling).

So it seems that PUL had the following:

glanfaí, buailfí: /glɑnfʹi:, buəlʹfʹi:/
glantaí, buailtí: /glɑntʹi:, buəlʹtʹi:/

Ignoring completely the grammatically incorrect use of as Gaeilge in Standardised Irish (Gaeilge=Gaedhilge in the old script, the genitive of the noun, where the dative should stand), it is interesting to revisit the question of whether there is any difference between as Gaelainn and i nGaelainn.

The point is not often raised today, but PUL wrote in a letter to Gearóid Ó Nualláin on this point on April 4th, 1914:

‘do sgrí a Gaeluinn.’ Féach, ‘Abair as Gaoluinn é,’ ach ‘sgríbh i nGaoluinn é.’ Ní deirtear ‘as Gaoluinn’ ach le caint. Deirtear ‘i nGaoluinn’ le sgríbhinn nú le clódhbhualadh, nú le haistriughadh. Deir Eoghan Ruadh le Cailbhin i n-áit éigin, ‘An masluightheach a dh’aistrigh i mBéarla an Pháis’ (.i. the Mass).

In other words, as Gaelainn refers to speech. You can speak as Gaelainn. But you can only write i nGaelainn.