“When the natural advantages of the scene have obtained their due homage, let the visitor look for vestiges of the past, and there he will not be disappointed; for the place seemeth to bear the shew of an ancient and famous monument.”
All of which observations are sufficiently noncommittal to be undisputed; and unless one is an arrant idol-breaker,—and we haven’t many in these days,—he will be quite willing to accept the description as being sufficiently explicit to permit of his putting himself in the same place, and making the same observations.
The site is assuredly authentic, and the link of history which binds its past with the present is something more than a suggestion; though by no means need we seek or envy the emotions which inspired Moore’s verses:
“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.
“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.”
Near Drogheda is Monasterboice, a collection of celebrated ecclesiastical ruins. Within an enclosed churchyard, which stands quite apart from any settlement of to-day, are two tiny chapels, a round tower of considerable proportions (110 feet high and 50 feet in circumference at its base), and three stone crosses, the principal of which, known as St. Boyne’s Cross, is reputedly the most ancient religious relique now standing in Ireland. Among its rude sculptures, there is an inscription in Irish characters, in which is plainly legible the name of Murelach, a king of Ireland who died in 534, about one hundred years after the arrival of St. Patrick. The height of this cross is twenty-seven feet, and it is composed of two stones. The shafts are divided into compartments ornamented with figures. One group represents “a couple of harpers in paradise,” of which Köhl says: “No Irishman of the olden times would have thought paradise complete without his beloved national instrument.”
This recalls Lover’s verses, but whether or no so rude a symbolism inspired them it is impossible to state.
“Oh! give me one strain
Of that wild harp again,
In melody proudly its own,
Sweet harp of the days that are gone.”
The entire region of the Boyne valley is rich in tradition and history, far more so than any other area of its size in Ireland.
From Drogheda, at the river’s mouth, to Trim, just beyond Tara, and to Kells on the Blackwater (not to be confounded with the Blackwater of the south), the Boyne’s chief tributary, is scarce fifty miles; but there are a succession of shrines of history of which even the most unfamiliar are household words.