The Harp That Once Through Tara's Halls

The harp that once through Tara's halls

The soul of music shed...

Called  Temair in Gaelic, 

the Hill of Tara was once the seat of power

for the Celtic high kings of ancient Ireland

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 for high 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

It's 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.

An Irish folk song based on a poem

by Thomas Moore
(1779-1852)

The Harp Of  Tara

Antoine Auguste Ernest Hebert

(1817-1908)