This poem was written by Lochlann Óg Ó Dálaigh after the flight of the Earls when Hugh O’Neill Earl of Tyrone and Red Hugh O’Donnel 1st Earl of Tyrconnel and their followers retreated to catholic countries in mainland Europe after their defeat in the Battle of Kinsale 1601 and the end of the nine year war.
Where have the Gaels gone?
Where have the Gaels gone?
What is the fate of the mirthful throngs?
I catch no glimpse of them
within sight of the green land of Gaoidheal.
I do not see the dark-eyed throng
around the heights of fortified assembly-places;
their tumult is not audible to me
as I traverse Ireland´s plain.
I marvel what can be their condition,
the heroes of the bright, pure fortresses:
I have found the mansions of Conn´s Ireland,
but I cannot find The Companies of her halls.
They have dispersed from us in all directions,
the young warriors of Leinster, the heroes of Munster,
the fierce-bladed denizens of Maeve´s plain,
and ancient Eamhain´s warband of noble race.
It is no ancient faery incantation,
no deceitful mist of magic
that has quite concealed from us the choice scions
from the bright dwelling of the Gaels.
As it turned out the worse,
woe´s me for the plain of Raoile´s protecting band:
the sons of kings from the pleasant green house
of Breagh are being made into exiles.
They have been given billeting far and wide,
away from the bright, smooth Ireland;
the palaces of kings of the Eastern lands
are made well-known to the race of Mil.
We have in their stead an arrogant, impure crowd,
of foreigners´ blood,
of the race of Monadh –
there are Saxons there, and Scotch.
They divide it up amongst themselves,
this territory of the children of noble Niall,
without a jot of Flann´s milky plain
that we don´t find becoming (mere) acres´.
Here is an analogy for the land of Banbha:
a golden chessboard under base chessmen;
for some time our land has been found destitute
of its bright complement of Gaels.
We have witnessed egregious changes upon Ireland –
it is right to enumerate them (or to bewail them) –
which would have been wondrous at any previous
time upon the sparkling-watered land of Laoghaire.
Heavy is the shame! We have come to see
seats of government being made desolate,
the produce wasting in a stream, dark thickets
of the chase become thoroughfares.
A congregation of rustics in the home of Saints,
God´s service under the shelter of bright branches;
(?) quilts of clergymen become cattle´s bedding,
the hillside is wrenched into fields.
Assemblies (are held) in places of hunting,
hunts upon illustrious streets, belts of the hedges
of cultivation over the plain´s face,
without a meet for racing over its cheeks.
They destroy the hostels of noblemen,
they build with despotic vigour
a line of white(washed) multipillared courts
all about the deer-bereft flank of Ireland.
No-one of the blood of Gaoidheal sees anything
at which to rejoice; he hears no voice
he considers full-sweet – och! the extent
of their humiliation I (have to) relate.
They find no sweetness in devotion to poetry, the sound
of harps or the music of an organ, nor the tales of the
kings of Bregia of the turreted walls, nor the numbering
of the ancient generations of their forefathers.
The oppressiveness of the judgements passed
upon them, it steals away their souls from them;
the battle-fierce heroes of Lughaidh´s plain,
they most resemble half-dead corpses.
The expulsion of the Gaels of the field of Banbha,
although its vaunt is claimed for a foreign battalion,
it is the wrath of God scourging them before all –
that is the (real) cause of their expulsion.
They are not the only ones to have been destroyed;
many´s the race for whom there was decreed ill,
as a result of the wrath of God in Heaven,
whereat the shafts of His wrath burst.
The sons of Israel of the bright weapons,
when His wrath was kindled against them,
many´s the plague with which He visited His fury
(upon them) to chastise them in the midst of all.
He used to send, moreover –
it is an old tale – much destruction
upon the great race of Maccabaeus,
whenever they transgressed against His testament.
However far each of these peoples progressed
towards meriting the wrath of the King on High,
pure repentance for their sins
procured forgiveness for them thereafter.
Repentance now, after that fashion –
alas that the sons of Mil do not do that,
to cast off from them His anger,
to remove the true anger of the King on High.
The stock of the Gaels of the bitter conflicts, till
they may reach the virtuous state of repentance, (let) their protection be placed in (the hands of) the Creator
of the Elements, in order to avert the wrath of the Lord.
The vengeance of God is the reason for it.
The men of Scotland, the youths of London
have settled in their place.
Where have the Gaels gone?
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