The Banshee

As I walked on the moor, the night grown cold
The moon on the lea and the sheep in their fold
I was nearing the banks of deep Lough Neagh
When out of the mists came a wailing banshee

Now my blood ran cold and my heart began to pray
I knew what this meant and no one had to say
I looked to the castle and on the wall so high
Paced the spirit woman, her wail now a sigh

Her hair was misty cobweb, her dress a tattered gauze
And the look in her eyes would give a mortal man pause
I trembled in my shoes and my heart began to fail
When out of her mouth came a high pitched wail

Into a pit of sadness I fell, deep and black as coal
No man can hear that voice and not have it touch his soul
She crooned the song of death, terrible and low
A man would die tonight, dealt his mortal blow

No more could I take and into a faint I fell
I awoke to hear the toll of the sweet church bell
I stumbled to the lake and in the morning light
My reflected gaze looked back, my hair had turned to white

Now in the dark I tremble, sometimes I'm up all night
Never will I forget that awful, terrible sight
For it was my father that died, the night of the banshee
The next time that she wails it will be for me.

Copyright 2000 by Cait McKnelly

Graphic information: The above postcard, dated 1920, was found in a book of  Irish poetry, published in 1916, that I purchased from a used and rare bookstore.
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