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 leeps the pride of former days,
So glory;s thrill is o'er,
And hearts that once heat high with praise,
Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and ladie 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 she still lives.
-Thomas Moore
Welcome, class, to Celtic Studies 101. We have a new format in the class now. Please bear with me while the changes are made. Please set this page, and all connecting pages, to being watched so you know when new stuff arrives. Thanks