THE BANSHEE.
Reading edition
Knee-deep she waded in the pool— The Banshee robed in green— She sang yon song the whole night long, And washed the linen clean; The linen that would wrap the dead She beetled on a stone, She stood with dripping hands, blood-red, Low singing all alone—
His linen robes are pure and white, For Fergus More must die to-night!
'Twas Fergus More rode o'er the hill, Come back from foreign wars, His horse's feet were clattering sweet Below the pitiless stars; And in his heart he would repeat— "O never again I'll roam; All weary is the going forth, But sweet the coming home!"
His linen robes are pure and white, For Fergus More must die to-night!
He saw the blaze upon his hearth Come gleaming down the glen; For he was fain for home again, And rode before his men— "'Tis many a weary day," he'd sigh, "Since I would leave her side; I'll never more leave Scotland's shore And yon, my dark-eyed bride."
His linen robes are pure and white, For Fergus More must die to-night!
So dreaming of her tender love, Soft tears his eyes would blind— When up there crept and swiftly leapt A man who stabbed behind— "'Tis you," he cried, "who stole my bride, This night shall be your last!" … When Fergus fell, the warm, red tide Of life came ebbing fast …
His linen robes are pure and white, For Fergus More must die to-night!