This page has been validated.
54
THE STORY AND SONG OF
My wee Conneen is pale and weak,
I hold him to my side;
The rose is white on Sheila's cheek
Since her young lover died.
The little children from their play
Creep to me full of fear;
‘Oh, whisht! the banshee comes,’ they say:
‘Whom does she weep for here?’
But Sheila leaves my chair to go,
And flings the shutter wide;
‘Be it for me,’ she whispers low,
‘The banshee keened and cried.’
God be between our house and harm,
For trouble comes full fleet.
I hold the babe close in my arm;
The fairy in the street.
But the wind that blew from the hill-side carried the keening of the little bride past the village, and blew it about the windows of the castle wherein Black Roderick dwelt. And as the cry keened and called, so did
