The Harp that Once Through Tara’s Halls


THE HARP that once through Tara’s halls   
  The soul of music shed,   
Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls   
  As if that soul were fled.   
So sleeps the pride of former days,           
  So glory’s thrill is o’er,   
And hearts, that once beat high for praise,   
  Now feel that pulse no more.   

No more to chiefs and ladies bright   
  The harp of Tara swells:           
The chord alone, that breaks at night,   
  Its tale of ruin tells.   
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,   
  The only throb she gives,   
Is when some heart indignant breaks,           
  To show that still she lives.


Thomas Moore