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IRISH MELODIES. |
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With thee were the dreams of my earliest love;
Every thought of my reason was thine; In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above,
Thy name shall be mingled with mine. Oh ! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live
The days of thy glory to see ; But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give
Is the pride of thus dying for thee. |
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THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALL&
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 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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