GUARD THE GAELIC

Is it not our bounden right

To uphold with all our might,

And with tongue and pen to fight

For our native Gaelic?

Guard the language known to Eve,

Ere the Serpent did deceive —

And the last one we believe,

Mellow, matchless Gaelic!

Pity the disloyal clown

Who will dwell awhile in Town,

And returning wear a frown

If he hears the Gaelic.

‘ Tis amusing to behold

Little misses ten years old,

When they leave the country fold

How they lose the Gaelic.

Some gay natives of the soil,

Cross “the line” a little while

And returning, deem it “style”

To deny the Gaelic.

Lads and lassies in their teens

Wearing airs of kings and queens —

Just a taste of Boston beans

Makes them lose their Gaelic!

They return with finer clothes,

Speaking “Yankee” through their nose!

That's the way the Gaelic goes —

Pop! goes the Gaelic.

Tho’ the so-called “tony set”

Teach them quickly to forget,

They will all be loyal yet

To their mother Gaelic.

Then abjure such silly pride

Cast the ragged thing aside —

Let your mongrel “English” slide

Rather than the Gaelic.

What a dire calamity

And how lonesome we would be

If our honored Seannachie,

Failed to charm in Gaelic!

Better far the “mother tongue” —

Language in which mother sung

Long ago, when we were young —

Ever tender Gaelic!

Findlay's ever ready muse,

Stricken dumb, would soon refuse

People further to enthuse,

If he lost his Gaelic!

And Buchanan, how could he

Sell his soda or his tea

On this side of “Talamh a righ,”

If he lost his Gaelic?

Also Merchant Edward Mac

Would not sell so much tomac

If his stock was found to lack

Lusty Lewis Gaelic!

And Pennoyer, what would you

At the Gould post office do

When you'd hear from not a few

“Ca mar u ha u fean a diubh,”

If you lost your Gaelic?

Little Donald with the plaid

O'er his buirdly shoulder laid,

Would go dancing in the shade,

And his glory soon would fade

If he lost his Gaelic.

From O'Groat' s to lands’ end, too,

What would brother Scotsmen do —

All the loyal clansmen who

But a single language know,

If they lost their Gaelic?

What would then become of those

Poems grand, in rhyme or prose,

Which in stately measure flows

From “Beinn Oran's” spotless snows!

“Chaibar Faidth” — the best that grows —

“Fhir a baitha” — how he rows!

What, I ask, would happen those

If we lost the Gaelic?

Then uphold the magic tongue

Which through mystic Eden rung

When Creation still was young —

Language in which Adam sung

To his Eve, Earth's first love song;

When the morning stars were flung

Into space, where since they've clung —

Ancient, Glorious Gaelic!