A Ghost and Angel story -- THE LEGEND OF TYRONE

A few years ago I read an old Irish poem, which was in one of William Butler Yeats’ books on Irish Fairy Lore.

It is a ghost poem, about a dead mother who comes back as a ghost or an angel, to take care of her little children.

It was a poem by Ellen O’ Leary, an Irish poet and writer who lived in the 1800’s. The poem was called the “Legend Of Tyrone”. 

It is a very haunting, yet touching story, in poem form.:

Crouched round a bare hearth in hard, frosty weather,

Three lone, helpless weans cling close together;

Tangled those gold locks, once bonnie and bright—

There’s no one to fondle the baby to-night.

“My mammie I want! Oh! my mammie I want!”

The big tears stream down with low wailing chaunt;

Sweet Ely’s slight arms enfold the gold head;

“Poor weeny Willie, sure mammie is dead—

And daddie is crazy from drinking all day,

Come down, holy angels, and take us away!”

Eily and Eddie keep kissing and crying—

Outside the weird winds are sobbing and sighing.

All in a moment the children are still,

Only a quick coo of gladness from Will.

The sheiling no longer seems empty and bare,

For, clothed in white raiment, the mother stands there.

They gather around her, they cling to her dress;

She rains down soft kisses for each shy caress,

Her light, loving touches smooth out tangled locks,

And pressed to her bosom the baby she rocks.

He lies in his cot, there’s a fire on the hearth;

To Eily and Eddy ’tis heaven on earth,

For mother’s deft fingers have been everywhere,

She lulls them to rest in the low sugaun chair.

They gaze open-eyed, then the eyes gently close,

As petals fold into the heart of a rose;

But open soon again in awe, love, but not fear,

And fondly they murmur, “Our mammie is here!”

She lays them down softly, she wraps them around,

They lie in sweet slumbers, she starts at a sound!

The cock loudly crows, and the spirit’s away—

The drunkard steals in at the dawning of day.

Again and again ’tween the dark and the dawn

Glides in the dead mother to nurse Willie bawn,

Or is it an angel who sits by the hearth?

An angel in heaven, a mother on earth.

"Chaunt” = chant. “Bawn” = baby. “Weans” = babies, little kids. “Mammie” = mom. "Weeny” = little. "Sheiling" = (I'm not sure what that means). "Sugaun chair" = a wicker chair -- made of woven straw.

The mother has apparently died. The father can’t handle it, and is out drinking to deal with the pain – neglecting his children nightly in the process.

The ghost or angel of the mother reappears at night, and takes care of her own children, hugging them, caring for them, and nursing the baby. When I first read it, it was very haunting… it has a combined supernatural quality, mixed with sadness.

The poem is based on a Irish legend from County Tyrone.

There are similar legends of ghosts and fairies not only in Ireland, but in other countries, too.

This poem, along with other things, influenced me to start writing a fiction story about a ghost or angel that similarly appears after a tragic happening. It is a combination romance and ghost story, occurring in my own city. Whether I put it out in eBook form remains to be seen, though.