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But do banshee’s really exist or are they mere myth? Well people throughout history have sworn that they are real. Tales of banshees can be traced to the early eighth-century, and even today, belief in banshees is widespread in Ireland. In fact, some pictures were recently taken of a supposed "real" banshee, and I’ve added them to this webpage. However, the person who sent them to me wishes to remain anonymous, and whether they’re the real thing or not remains unknown.
According to legend, she’s often seen combing her hair as she laments, but truth be told, she’s heard more often than seen. The wailing begins as she approaches the home of soon-to-be deceased, and generally occurs late in the evening or during the early morning. Sometimes the banshee will even perch on a windowsill like a bird, where she’ll remain for several hours or even days—until death comes to call. Often, as the banshee escapes into the darkness witnesses have described a bird-like fluttering sound. Thus, many have thought of banshees as a birdlike creatures. Of course the banshee also wails in other areas such as in the wood, rivers, and rock formations. In Waterford, Monaghan, and Carlow, there are wedge-shaped rocks which are referred to as "banshee's chairs."
It just shows that though the banshee is a commonly known figure, the familiar spectre remains steeped in mystery, and there are several theories to account for banshee sightings. Some even speculate that the banshee is some type of a devil or demon-like creature who wails for the souls that are lost to her as they ascend to heaven. It has even been suggested that banshees are familial guardian angels or souls of unbaptized children or even the souls of women who committed the sin of pride in life. Another outlandish theory is that banshee’s are the spirits of the "keeners," old women who were paid in drink to weep at the graveside of eminent figures in the community during earlier times. Though the Church didn’t approve of being associated with these women, the keener’s employment was necessary nevertheless, since a person’s status and respect was measured by how much the deceased was mourned after death. It is thought that these keeners might have been so dutiful, that they followed the family they mourned for even after their own death. But it’s important to remember that as fearful as the banshee is, she also has a good purpose—to assist the close family through the grieving process by allowing them to accept the upcoming death of a loved one. Generally, the banshee is heard only by non-relatives and friends, not close family members of the dying. Even friends from a far could hear the dire mourn and could thus travel a great distance to support the family.
The Irish aren’t the only ones who have these ghastly harbingers of death. In Scotland, the folks dreaded the feared "bean-nighe," a spectral washing woman, though to have died in childbirth. In death, the poor soul is often seen near bodies of water, washing the shrouds of those who are soon to die. Though, like the Irish banshee, the bean-nigh is a frightful apparition who sings sad dirges and wails hideously, it will also tell passersby who it’s waiting to take to the afterlife if questioned. However, like the banshee, it would be unwise to pester or bother the bean-nighe, and this would lead to horrible misfortune. Well, it they look anything like the spirit depicted in these pictures, who’d dare?
A LAMENTATION (For the Death of Sir Maurice Fitzgerald, Knight, of Kerry, who was killed in Flanders, 164)
There was lifted up one voice of woe, One lament of more than mortal grief, Through the wide South to and fro, for a fallen Chief. In the dead of night that cry thrilled through me, I looked out upon the midnight air? My own soul was all as gloomy, As I knelt in prayer. O'er Loch Gur, that night, once-twice--yea, thrice-- Passed a wail of anguish for the Brave That half curled into ice Its moon-mirroring wave. Then uprose a many-toned wild hymn in Choral swell from Ogra's dark ravine, And Mogeely's Phantom Women Mourned the Geraldine! Far on Carah Mona's emerald plains Shrieks and sighs were blended many hours, And Fermoy in fitful strains Answered from her towers. Youghal, Keenalmeaky, Eemokilly, Mourned in concert, and their piercing keen Woke to wondering life the stilly Glens of Inchiqueen. From Loughmoe to yellow Dunanore There was fear ; the traders of Tralee Gathered up their golden store, And prepared to flee ; For, in ship and hall from night till morning, Showed the first faint beamings of the sun, All the foreigners heard the warning Of the Dreaded One! "This," they spake, "portendeth death to us, If we fly not swiftly from our fate!" Self-conceited idiots! thus Ravingly to prate! Not for base-born higgling Saxon trucksters Ring laments like those by shore and sea! Not for churls with souls like hucksters Waileth our Banshee! For the high Milesian race alone Ever flows the music of her woe! For slain heir to bygone throne, And for Chief laid low! Hark!. . .Again, methinks, I hear her weeping Yonder! Is she near me now, as then? Or was but the night-wind sweeping Down the hollow glen?
--The End--
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