SNIPPET: Starting in the late 19th century, Ireland and America experienced what became known as the "Gaelic Revival." At the heart of it was the movement to revive the Irish language, but it also involved efforts to stir interest in Irish history, art, dance, music, and literature. One of the most viable symbols of this revival was the proliferation of annual Gaelic festivals, knows as feis (pron. "fesh") across the country. These usually featured competitions in dancing, writing, oratory, singing and sports. By the 1930s and 1940s it was not uncommon for a feis in Chicago or Boston to draw as many as 4,000 people. For most Irish immigrants in America, the great composer of Irish music was Thomas MOORE (1779-1852). Moore was a poet and friend of many leading literary figures of his day. Born in Dublin and graduated from Trinity College in 1799, he studied law, but found his calling in writing poetry. In 1807, he published the first of many volumes of "Irish Melodies," collections of poems set to music by MOORE and Sir John STEVENSON. The songs, among them "The Harp That Once Through Tara's Halls," "The Last Rose of Summer," Oft in the Stilly Night," proved phenomenally popular among London's aristocracy and nationalists in Ireland and America. As William H. A. WILLIAMS writes in the "Encyclopedia of the Irish in America," -- 'Moore's themes - love of Ireland, a powerful feeling of nostalgia, especially the strong sense of loss that permeates so many of his songs - helped to define the Irish parlor ballad for other songwriters who followed in his wake.' THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER 'Tis the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred, No rose bud is nigh To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh! I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them; Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from love's shining circle Thy gems drop away! When true hearts lie withered, And fond ones are flown, Oh! who would inhabit This bleak world alone? -- Thomas Moore (1779-1852) BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy gifts fading away! Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still. It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known, To which time will but make thee more dear! Oh the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets The same look which she turned when he rose! -- Thomas Moore (1779-1852)