Poems you ought to know . The harp that once through Taras halls The soul of music shed,Now hangs as mute on Taras walls As if that soul were sleeps the pride of former days, So glorys thrill is oer,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 Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives,Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives 195. THE BELLS OF SHANDON. BY FRANCIS MAHONY. Francis Sylvester Mahony, bette
Poems you ought to know . The harp that once through Taras halls The soul of music shed,Now hangs as mute on Taras walls As if that soul were sleeps the pride of former days, So glorys thrill is oer,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 Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives,Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives 195. THE BELLS OF SHANDON. BY FRANCIS MAHONY. Francis Sylvester Mahony, better known as Father Prout, waa bomIn Cork In 1804. Though he was a Jesuit priest, he was more of aliteratus than a man of God. He is the author of the famous Reliquesof Father Prout, which he wrote for Frazero Magazine. Later he wasthe Rome correspondent for the Dally News and the Paris correspondentof the Globe. He died In Paris in 1866. Among his poems the followingIs the only one worth mention: With deep affection and recollection I often think of those Shandon bells,Whose sounds so wild would in the days of childhoodFling round my cradle their magic this I ponder, whereer I wander,And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee;With thy bells of Shandon,That sound so grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee. 196 I have heard bells chiming full many a clime in, Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine;While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate,But all their music spoke naught like thine;For memory dwelli
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