I've played everything but the harp.
Onthegreenbanks of Shannon, when Sheelahwasnigh, No blithe Irish lad was so happyas I; No harp like my own could so cheerily play, And wherever I went was my poor dogTray.
The Minstrel-boy to the war isgone, In the ranks of death you'll find him; His father's sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him.
The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute onTara's walls As if that soul were fled.
The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses grey, Seemed to have known a better day; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried byan orphan boy, The last of all the Bards was he, Who sung of Border chivalry.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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