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Ballad of the Banshee

Back thro’ the hills I hurried home,
Ever my boding soul would say:
‘Mother and sister bid thee come,
Long, too long has been thy stay.’
 
Stars shone out, but the moon was pale,
 Touched by a black cloud’s ragged rim,
Sudden I heard the Banshee’s wail
 Where Malmor’s war-tower rises grim.
 
Quickly I strode across the slope,
 Passed the grove and the Fairy Mound
(Gloomy the moat where blind owls mope)
 Scarcely breathing, I glanced around.
 
Mother of mercy! there she sat,
 A woman clad in a snow-white shroud,
Streamed her hair to the damp moss-mat,
 White the face on her bosom bowed!
 
‘Spirit of Woe’ I eager cried,
 'Tell me none that I love has gone,
Cold is the grave’–my accents died–
 The Banshee lifted her face so wan.
 
Pale and wan as the waning moon,
 Seen when the sun-spears herald dawn.
Ceased all sudden her dreary croon,
 Full on my own her wild eyes shone,
 
Burned and seared my inmost soul.
 (When shall sorrow depart from me?)
Black-winged terror upon me stole,
 Blindly gaping, I turned to flee!
 
Back by the grove and haunted mound,
 O’er the lone road I know not how,
 
Hearkened afar my baying hound
 Home at last at the low hill’s brow!
 
Lone the cottage–the door flung wide,
 Four lights burned–oh, sight of dread!
Breathing a prayer, I rushed inside,
 ‘Mercy, God!’ ’twas my mother, dead!
 
Dead and white as the fallen leaf,
 (Kneeling, my sister prayed near by),
Wild as I wrestled with my grief,
 Far and faint came the Banshee’s cry!
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