The Grey Rider

Why ride so fast through the wind and rain, Grey Rider of the Shee? Lest a soul should call for me in vain To-night, O Vanathee.

Now, whose is the soul shall seek thine aid, Grey Rider of the Shee? The soul of one that is sore afraid To-night, O Vanathee.

O fears he the flurry of wind and rain, Grey Rider of the Shee? More deep is the dread that sears his brain To-night, O Vanathee.

Does he fear the tumult of clanging blows, Grey Rider of the Shee? Nay, darker still is the fear he knows To-night, O Vanathee.

Does he fear the loss of wife or child, Grey Rider of the Shee? Nay, a terror holds him that's still more wild To-night, O Vanathee.

O what should make him so sore afraid, Grey Rider of the Shee? He fears a wraith that himself has made To-night, O Vanathee.

Then how shall you cleanse from fear his mind, Grey Rider of the Shee? I will touch his eyes, and they shall be blind To-night, O Vanathee.

Yet still may he know the voice of fear, Grey Rider of the Shee? I will touch his ears that he shall not hear To-night, O Vanathee.

Yet that wraith may linger around his bed, Grey Rider of the Shee? No terror shall touch the quiet dead To-night, O Vanathee.

Shee, Sidhe--Fairies.

Vanathee, Bean-an-Tighe--Woman of the house.