Oh weird and wild the wail of woe now borne
Upon the startled night-winds from the west-
Deep gasps of grief and soul-sighs from men torn
By death, grim hideous unbidden guest-
From where great breakers piling on the shore
Awaken eerie echoes o’er the dunes.
Fell waves! Foul, treacherous for-ever more-
While lethal-laden, chanting age-old runes.
Not more decit the steed that enter Troy
And dumped destruction dire within her walls!
Ye bore to Braide that deadly dark decoy
Its victims now lie ‘neath their eighteen palls.
Brave lives, all full of youthful faith and fire.
Strangers to fear, all anxious more to learn-
And hence inquisitive, in deep desire
To probe at things unknown-for knowledge yearn.
Unto the flotsam of that baneful beach
They saw it sail and wondered what it was…
Then rushed along in headlong haste to reach
Their coming destined doom-their tomb, alas!
Wild howling winds begat a drear banshee…
The gruesome monster slowly sought the shore…
A blinding flash! A thund’rous crash The sea
Rose up in rage and pain around its roar.
Some to the land were flung, and some to sea…
Some to the skies-to fall in mangled mass:
A silent lull… then shrieks of agony
Now rent the echoes o’er that gory grass.
Three vacant chairs in two once happy homes,
Two widows weeping nigh their orphan’d weans
How suddenly God’s visitation comes!
How swiftly pleasure turn to poignant pains!
Kincasslagh holds eleven tombs to-day,
While seven rest in peace at Annagry:
The goom at eventide when skies are grey
Is deepen’d by this tearful tragedy.
All Irishmen of every creed and class
Now sympathise with those lone folks forlorn:
For those who live, their grief may slowly pass!
For those now dead, new hopes of life be born!