The Harp that Ransomed

Bring my King's harp here to me,
That my grief, forgot, may flee;
Full soon shall pass man's sadness
When wakes that voice of gladness.

Noble he, and skilled in all,
Who owned this tree musical;
Many lofty songs he sang
Whilst its soft sweet numbers rang.

Many jewels he bestowed,
Seated, where this fair gem glowed;
Oft he guerdoned the beholder,
Its curved neck on his shoulder.

Dear the hand that smote the chords
Of the slight, smooth, polished boards;
Bright and brave, the tall youth played,
True his hand, for music made.

When his hand o'er this would roam —
Music's meet and perfect home —
Then its great soft tender sigh
Bore away man's misery.

When the curled Dalcassians came,
Guests, within his hall of fame,
Then its deep voice, woke again,
Welcomed Cashel's comely men.

All men admired the Maiden,
Banba with praise was laden:
"Doncad's harp," they all exclaim,
"The fair, fragrant tree of fame!"

"O'Brian's harp! clear its call
O'er the feast in Gabran's hall;
How the heir of Gabran's Kings
Shook deep music from its strings!"

Son of Gael, of weapon sharp,
Wins not now O'Brian's harp:
Son of stranger shall not gain
From this gem its Spirit's strain.

What woe to come a pleader
For harp of Lim'rick's Leader J

? Iceland,

What woe to come a-dreaming

That flocks were thy redeeming

Sweet thy full melodious voice,
Maid, who wast a Monarch's choice:
Thy blithe voice would woe beguile,
Maiden of my Erinn's isle!

Could I live the yew tree's time
In this deer-loved eastern clime,
I would serve her gladly still, —
The Chief's harp of Brendon Hill.

Dear to me — of right it should —
Alba's ever-winsome wood,
Yet, though strange, more dear I love
This one tree of Erinn's grove!