Of how the banshee got her wail.
The story of a songbird’s fall.
An enchanted girl, misused by all.
A fable telling how grief ferments
to leave nothing but Death’s lament.â€
(Seamus sniggered and gave a yawn.
His mammy frowned, but carried on.)
–When warring clans did stride this isle,
There lived a girl whose honeyed smile
Could charm the sunlight all day long
and weave moonbeams into her song.
Beloved by all, she caught the eye
Of many a flaith, but she defied
the call of Kings that she be married,
Intending to stay pure, unsullied.
Thwarted, one Chief devised a plan
To tether this colleen to his clan.
So with the blessing of his tribe,
He forced the girl to be his bride.
Within a year, a child she bore,
But sadness dripped from every pore.
And as her son whimpered his first,
She screeched aloud her final curse.
Through clogging mist in pitted bogs,
On craggy rocks, and dense swirled fog,
Her keen whipped through the moors to mourn
the life cut short when her son was born.
Her hair turned white, her skin was grey,
She’d make her husband rue the day
that he had left her to this hell.
She’d serenade him to his knell!
Revenge exacted, but thirst not stayed,
The banshee looked for further prey.
She wove her song among the gloom,
To herald each man to his doom.â€
(With eyes tight shut, Seamus heard
his mammy’s tale, and her final words.)
–So if you hear the banshee cry,
Know, my son, your death is nigh.â€