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...
The Works of Thomas Moore: Irish melodies. National airs - Page 14
by Thomas Moore - 1823
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