TARA'S HARP
The harp that once through Tara's Hall the soul of music shed
Now hangs as mute on Tara's wall 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
This freedom now so seldom wakes, the only throb she gives
Is when some heart indignant breaks, to show that she still lives

By: Thomas Moore 1779-1852