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I
don
’
t
know
just
exactly
what
they
are
,
but
Ireland
has
all
there
are
,
anyway
.
They
’
ve
a
lot
of
great
actors
,
and
a
few
singers
,
and
there
never
was
a
sweeter
poet
than
one
of
theirs
.
You
should
hear
my
father
recite
’
Dear
Harp
of
My
Country
.
’
He
does
it
this
way
.
”
The
Angel
arose
,
made
an
elaborate
old
-
time
bow
,
and
holding
up
the
banjo
,
recited
in
clipping
feet
and
meter
,
with
rhythmic
swing
and
a
touch
of
brogue
that
was
simply
irresistible
:
“
Dear
harp
of
my
country
”
[
The
Angel
ardently
clasped
the
banjo
]
,
“
In
darkness
I
found
thee
”
[
She
held
it
to
the
light
]
,
“
The
cold
chain
of
silence
had
hung
o
’
er
thee
long
”
[
She
muted
the
strings
with
her
rosy
palm
]
;
“
Then
proudly
,
my
own
Irish
harp
,
I
unbound
thee
”
[
She
threw
up
her
head
and
swept
a
ringing
harmony
]
;
“
And
gave
all
thy
chords
to
light
,
freedom
,
and
song
”
[
She
crashed
into
the
notes
of
the
accompaniment
she
had
been
playing
for
Freckles
]
.
“
That
’
s
what
you
want
to
be
thinking
of
!
”
she
cried
.
“
Not
darkness
,
and
lonesomeness
,
and
sadness
,
but
’
light
,
freedom
,
and
song
.
’
I
can
’
t
begin
to
think
offhand
of
all
the
big
,
splendid
things
an
Irishman
has
to
be
proud
of
;
but
whatever
they
are
,
they
are
all
yours
,
and
you
are
a
part
of
them
.
I
just
despise
that
’
saddest
-
when
-
I
-
sing
’
business
.
You
can
sing
!
Now
you
go
over
there
and
do
it
!
Ireland
has
had
her
statesmen
,
warriors
,
actors
,
and
poets
;
now
you
be
her
voice
!
You
stand
right
out
there
before
the
cathedral
door
,
and
I
’
m
going
to
come
down
the
aisle
playing
that
accompaniment
,
and
when
I
stop
in
front
of
you
—
you
sing
!
”
The
Angel
’
s
face
wore
an
unusual
flush
.
Her
eyes
were
flashing
and
she
was
palpitating
with
earnestness
.
