The Banshee Calling - A Haunting Irish Ballad from the Otherworld - Irish Ballad - Fireside Story

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Step into the mists of Irish legend with The Banshee Calling, a spine-tingling ballad that breathes life into the ancient folklore of Ireland. Through vivid verses and haunting visuals, this piece explores the ethereal presence of the banshee — the fairy woman whose mournful wail foretells death. From moonlit boglands to castle walls, she roams the Irish landscape, bound by fate and sorrow. Whether seen as a radiant maiden or a weeping crone, her cry still chills the blood and echoes across generations. This ballad honours the spirit of Irish storytelling, blending history, myth, and music to awaken the memory of the Irish diaspora and those who carried their legends across the sea. Watch, listen, and feel the ghostly breath of tradition stir once more.

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In the dead of night when winds blow cold,
And moonlight bathes the fields in gold,
A whisper floats upon the breeze
The mournful wail of the banshee.

She walks the path where shadows creep,
Through ancient ruins and boglands deep,
Her hair flows wild, her eyes are grey,
She cry’s for those who pass away.

Some see a maid in robes of white,
With sorrowed face and skin like light.
Some say she’s old, with hands like bone,
A crone who walks the hills alone.

By rivers edge or lonesome glen,
She weeps for dying Gaelic men.
O’Neills, O’Gradys, or O’Brien
She cries for them as they lay dying.

She bears no blade, no ghostly flame,
She speaks no curse, she calls no name.
Yet hearts grow cold who hear her moan,
And know the grave won’t wait too long

She’s not from Hell, nor Heaven’s choir,
But fae-born blood and funeral fire.
A spirit from the Otherworld,
Where mist and fate are tightly furled.

No mortal soul can make her cease,
She sings of death, but not of peace.
One note can freeze the fiercest will,
One cry, and all the earth grows still.

At cottage doors or castle walls,
Her sorrow echoes through the halls.
Then fades before the morning dew
A soul has gone, her cry was true.

So mind the hush at close of day,
And heed the winds along the way.
For if you hear that lonesome cry
Someone you love is going to die..