by Charles Carreon
As I rode home just yesternight
I heard the banshee scream,
And a strange wind came
from the wild fen, and my heart
began to grieve.
I laid the lash to my horse's flank
and spurred her through the dark;
Her shoes struck hard in the moistened earth;
Her hooves flung flying sod.
The oaks along the river bank
were shook as by a storm,
And as I dodged their tossing arms
I prayed to the Blessed One.
I left the winding river road
at the base of the Eastern hills,
But behind still followed an evil laughter,
the omen of sorrow and ills.
Still urging on my faithful mare, whose
mane seemed touched with elfish fire,
We bounded over the tumbled stones
and leapt the tangled briars.
As I crested the knoll I sought the light
of my cottage below in the vale --
Only dark met my eyes -- in the meaningless night
I heard the departing wail.
The spell was broke and filled at once as my
horse blew a shuddering breath.
We both looked around at the glittering sky
as silent and strange as death.
Down in the valley I wandered all night,
'till dawn came to seal my despair,
And away in the village, the people, all strange,
regard me with awe and chagrin,
And kindly say, "Sir, in the place that you name,
there's never a house that has been."