The Banshee

THE Banshee cries on the rising wind "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" The dead to free and the quick to bind— (Close fast the shutter and draw the blind!) "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

Why are you paler my dearest dear? "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" 'Tis but the wind in the elm tree near— (Acushla, hush! lest the Banshee hear!) "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

See, how the crackling fire up-springs, "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" Up and up on its flame-red wings; Hark, how the cheerful kettle sings! "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

Core of my heart! How cold your lips! "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" White as the spray the wild wind whips, Still as your icy finger tips! "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

On the rising wind the Banshee cries— "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" I kiss your hair. I kiss your eyes— The kettle is dumb; the red flame dies! "Ochone! Ochone! Ochone!"