Mr Croker, indeed, almost invariably associates the Banshee with the heath and bogland, for at the commencement of his Tales of the Banshee in the same volume, we find these well-known lines: "Who sits upon the heath forlorn, With robe so free and tresses worn, Anon she pours a harrowing strain, And then she sits all mute again! Now peals the wild funereal cry, And now--it sinks into a sigh." Very different from this grim and repellent portrayal of the Banshee given by Mr Croker is the very pleasing and attractive description of it presented to us by Dr Kenealy, whose account of it in prose appears in an earlier chapter of this book. Referring to the death of his brother, Dr Kenealy says: "Here the Banshee, that phantom bright who weeps Over the dying of her own loved line, Floated in moonlight; in her streaming locks Gleamed starshine; when she looked on me, she knew And smiled." And again: "The wish has but Escaped my lips--and lo! once more it streams In liquid lapse upon the fairy winds That guard each slightest note with jealous care, And bring them hither, even as angels might To the beloved to whom they minister." In reference to phantom music heard at sea, Mr Dyer, in his "Ghost World," p. 413, quotes the following lines: "A low sound of song from the distance I hear, In the silence of night, breathing sad on my ear, Whence comes it? I know not--unearthly the note, Yet it sounds like the lay that my mother once sung, As o'er her first-born in his cradle she hung." As I have already stated, the Banshee is not infrequently heard at sea, either singing or weeping, hence, in all probability, the author of these lines, whose name, by the way, Mr Dyer does not divulge, had the Banshee in mind when he wrote them. But, perhaps, the best known, as well as the most direct reference to this ghost in verse is that made by Ireland's popular poet, Thomas Moore, in one of the most famous of his "Irish Melodies." I append the poem, not only for the reference it contains, but also on account of its general beauty. "How oft has the Banshee cried! How oft has death untied Bright bonds that glory wove Sweet bonds entwin'd by love. Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth! Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth! Long may the fair and brave Sigh o'er the hero's grave. We're fallen upon gloomy days, Star after star decays, Every bright name, that shed Light o'er the land, is fled. Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth Lost joy, a hope that ne'er returneth, But brightly flows the tear Wept o'er the hero's bier. Oh, quenched are our beacon lights Thou, of the hundred fights! Thou, on whose burning tongue Truth, peace, and freedom hung! Both mute, but long as valour shineth Or Mercy's soul at war refineth So long shall Erin's pride Tell how they lived and died."