“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 she still lives.”
“Farewell to Tara’s Halls,” I said, as we swept on south.
As we fled over Ireland we astonished the Irish people, but we also astonished the denizens of the air. The birds seemed unable to understand what kind of a monster was invading their element. As we passed over rookeries, where the crows had their nests in large flocks, the cawing of the frightened crows was tremendous. The little sparrows chirped around us with their chatter. We saw many magpies, robins, blackbirds and thrushes. There was one bird in Ireland I learned to love, the meadow lark. It would spring from the ground singing as it rose, until it was lost in the clouds, but its sweet notes could still be heard.