The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1868-07-24
THE HALLS OF TARA.
DY RICHARD FAULKNER.


There is deep pathos, in the deep
lines of Thomas Moore, as he sings,
in words that burn like diamond
sparks. of the Halls Of Tara. To its
sweetness and sadness, every Irish
heart must respond; at least, every
one to which tradition has sent down
this solemn charge, to remember the
glories of Brian the Brave"
For it was in those very halls that
the good old king, Brian Borohme,
of Munster, received the homage of
his bitterest enemy, Malachi, King
OF Meath. Within sight of Tara's
loftiest hill, two fierce and passionate
men had fought for supreme power.
Both were brave, both ambitious;
but Brian's genius and talent en-
listed ardent supporters, and the
contest ended in victory to him.
Under his peaceful and gentle
sway, Ireland prospered as it never
had prospered before. Peace and
plenty were in the land. The con-
vents, that had been nearly destroy
ed by the half-savage Northern men,
as we'll as the strong-holds of the
country, were acquired during his
reign; and Ireland had her palmiest
days in that period of the tenth
century.
For nearly quarter of century,
the country was quiet beneath that
gentle sway; but then there was
thrown into it, the root of bitterness.
Two Kings-the King of Dublin,
and the King of Leinster-joined
together in making an incursion into
the Kingdom of Meath, for preda-
tory purposes. This unlooked-for
outrage woke up the lion heart of
Brian. His son, Donough Borohme,
who inherited his fathers brave
qualities, was despatched at once to
Lelnster, at the head of large force,
and there seemed no doubt that the
enemy would be speedily quelled.
Indisputably, it would have result
ed thus, had it not been for the
traitorous conduct of some of the
good old Kings own followers. Sick
at heart. yet still as brave and un-
tilnching as ever, he rode through
the ranks, bearing aloft the sacred
Cross, exhorting the remnant of his
soldiers to strike home for the faith. Of
all the Milesian chiefs, none presents
more powerful and striking picture
to the Imagination, than this gray
haired old man, calling upon his
children to fight for the religion of
the Saints. That still stately form,
the unwitbered hand clasping the
crucifix, fixed the eyes of the little
band, and Brian almost believed that
they could win the victory even
now. He never tagged for an in
.stant, until the night shadows began
to close around. Then, spent and
exhausted, some of his old warriors
assisted him to his tent, and he left
the result to his young and valiant
soldiers. headed by his son. 1t was
indeed victory; but scarcely had the
welcome shouts from Brian's own
troop announced the fact, than his
privacy was invaded by struggling
party, whose leader had sworn to
ayenge his defeat upon the good old
King.
For this purpose, they pursued
their way to his tent, where they
found him upon his knees at PRAYER.
The first note of conquest had drawn
away his companions, and the King
was left alone. Alone, but for the pre-,
sence of boy, scarcely more than q lit
tie child, who had clung to him as to a
father. Even then, the slight arm
were about his neck as he prayed.
and his prayers were echoed by as
sweet voice as ever came from