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
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
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