A song written by Thomas Moore (1779 to 1852). Moore studied music at Trinity College Dubln, where he discovered that Ireland was a "Land of Song." He put new words on old tunes (found mostly in Bunting's collection of Irish folk tunes) and these were very popular and known as "Moore's Melodies."
He was sympathetic towards contemporaries who took part in the rebellion of 1798 and was a friend of Robert Emmet who led and died in the Rising of 1803.
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 the 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
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