The Banshee

by Elliott O'Donnell

In reference to phantom music heard at sea, Mr Dyer, in his “Ghost World,” p. 413, quotes the following lines:

“A low sound of song from the distance I hear,
In the silence of night, breathing sad on my ear,
Whence comes it? I know not—unearthly the note,
Yet it sounds like the lay that my mother once sung,
As o’er her first-born in his cradle she hung.”

As I have already stated, the Banshee is not infrequently heard at sea, either singing or weeping, hence, in all probability, the author of these lines, whose name, by the way, Mr Dyer does not divulge, had the Banshee in mind when he wrote them. But, perhaps, the best known, as well as the most direct reference to this ghost in verse is that made by Ireland’s popular poet, Thomas Moore, in one of the most famous of his “Irish Melodies.” I append the poem, not only for the reference it contains, but also on account of its general beauty.

“How oft has the Banshee cried!
How oft has death untied
Bright bonds that glory wove
Sweet bonds entwin’d by love.
Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth!
Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth!
Long may the fair and brave
Sigh o’er the hero’s grave.
We’re fallen upon gloomy days,
Star after star decays,
Every bright name, that shed
Light o’er the land, is fled.
Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth
Lost joy, a hope that ne’er returneth,
But brightly flows the tear
Wept o’er the hero’s bier.
Oh, quenched are our beacon lights
Thou, of the hundred fights!
Thou, on whose burning tongue
Truth, peace, and freedom hung!
Both mute, but long as valour shineth
Or Mercy’s soul at war refineth
So long shall Erin’s pride
Tell how they lived and died.”

With the following extracts from the translation of an elegy written by Pierse Ferriter, the Irish poet soldier, who fought bravely in the Cromwellian wars, I must now terminate these references to the Banshee in poetry:

“When I heard lamentations
And sad, warning cries
From the Banshees of many
Broad districts arise.
Aina from her closely hid
Nest did awake
The woman of wailing
From Gur’s voicy lake;
From Glen Fogradh of words
Came a mournful whine,
And all Kerry’s Banshees
Wept the lost Geraldine.[14]
The Banshees of Youghal
And of stately Mo-geely
Were joined in their grief
By wide Imokilly.
Carah Mona in gloom
Of deep sorrow appears,
And all Kinalmeaky’s
Absorbed into tears.
····
The Banshee of Dunquin
In sweet song did implore
To the spirit that watches
O’er dark Dun-an-oir,
And Ennismare’s maid
By the dark, gloomy wave
With her clear voice did mourn
The fall of the brave.
On stormy Slieve Mish
Spread the cry far and wide,
From steeply Finnaleun
The wild eagle replied.
’Mong the Reeks, like the
Thunder peal’s echoing rout,
It burst—and deep moaning
Bright Brandon gives out,
Oh Chief! whose example
On soft-minded youth
Like the signet impressed
Honour, glory, and truth.
The youth who once grieved
If unnoticed passed by,
Now deplore thee in silence
With sorrow-dimmed eye,
O! woman of tears,
Who, with musical hands,
From your bright golden hair
Hath combed out the long bands,
Let those golden strings loose,
Speak your thoughts—let your mind
Fling abroad its full light,
Like a torch to the wind.”

In fiction no writer has, I think, dealt more freely with the subject of the Banshee than Thomas Crofton Croker, the translator of the abovementioned elegy. In his “Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland,” he gives the most inimitable accounts of it; and for the benefit of those of my readers who are unacquainted with his works, as well as for the purpose of presenting the Banshee as seen by such an unrivalled portrayer of Irish ghost and fairy lore, I will give a brief résumé of two of his stories.

The one I will take first relates to the Rev. Charles Bunworth, who about the middle of the eighteenth century was rector of Buttevant, County Cork. Mr Bunworth was greatly beloved and esteemed, not only on account of his piety—for pious people are by no means always popular—but also on account of his charity. He used to give pecuniary aid, often when he could ill afford it, to all and any, no matter to what faith they belonged, whom he really believed were in need; and being particularly fond of music, especially the harp, he entertained, in a most generous and hospitable manner, all the poor Irish harpers that came to his house. At the time of his death, no fewer than fifteen harps were found in the loft of his granary, presents, one is led to infer, from strolling harpers, in token of their gratitude for his repeated acts of kindness to them.

About a week prior to his decease, and at an early hour in the evening, several of the occupants of his house heard a strange noise outside the hall door, which they could only liken to the shearing of sheep. No very serious attention, however, was paid to it, and it was not until some time afterwards, when other queer things happened, that it was recalled and associated with the supernatural. Later on, at about seven o’clock in the evening, Kavanagh, the herdman, returned from Mallow, whither he had been dispatched for some medicine. He appeared greatly agitated, and, in response to Miss Bunworth’s questions as to what was the matter, could only ejaculate:

“The master, Miss, the master! He is going from us.”