At last, while she stood gazing in despair over the waste of waters, she saw her brothers swimming from different directions towards the rock.

They came to her one by one, and she welcomed them joyfully: and she placed Aed under the feathers of her breast, and Ficra and Conn under her wings, and said to them:--"My dear brothers, though ye may think last night very bad, we shall have many like it from this time forth."

So they continued for a long time on the Sea of Moyle, suffering hardships of every kind, till one winter night came upon them, of great wind and of snow and frost so severe, that nothing they ever before suffered could be compared to the misery of that night. The swans remained on Carricknarone, and their feet and their wings were frozen to the icy surface, so that they had to strive hard to move from their places in the morning; and they left the skin of their feet, the quills of their wings, and the feathers of their b.r.e.a.s.t.s clinging to the rock.

"Sad is our condition this night, my beloved brothers," said Finola, "for we are forbidden to leave the Sea of Moyle; and yet we cannot bear the salt water, for when it enters our wounds, I fear we shall die of pain." And she uttered these words--

Our life is a life of woe; No shelter or rest we find: How bitterly drives the snow; How cold is this wintry wind!

From the icy spray of the sea, From the wind of the bleak north-east, I shelter my brothers three, Under my wings and breast.

The witch-lady sent us here, And misery well we know:-- In cold and hunger and fear; Our life is a life of woe![36-1]

[36-1] Short Irish poems often began and ended in the same words, as seen in the above translation.

They were, however, forced to swim out on the stream of Moyle, all wounded and torn as they were; for though the brine was sharp and bitter, they were not able to avoid it. They stayed as near the coast as they could, till after a long time the feathers of their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and wings grew again, and their wounds were healed.

After this the swans lived on for a great number of years, sometimes visiting the sh.o.r.es of Erin, and sometimes the headlands of Alban. But they always returned to the sea-stream of Moyle, for it was to be their home till the end of three hundred years.

One day they came to the mouth of the Bann, on the north coast of Erin, and looking inland, they saw a stately troop of hors.e.m.e.n approaching directly from the south-west. They were mounted on white steeds, and clad in bright-coloured garments, and as they wound towards the sh.o.r.e their arms glittered in the sun.

These were a party of the Dedannans who had been a long time searching for the children of Lir along the northern sh.o.r.es of Erin: and now that they had found them, they were joyful; and they and the swans greeted each other with tender expressions of friendship and love. The children of Lir inquired after the Dedannans, and particularly after their father Lir; and for Bove Derg, and for all the rest of their friends and acquaintances.

"They are well," replied the Dedannans; "but all are mourning for you since the day you left Lake Darvra. And now we wish to know how you fare on this wild sea."

"Miserable has been our life since that day," said Finola; "and no tongue can tell the suffering and sorrow we have endured on the Sea of Moyle." And she chanted these words--

Ah, happy is Lir's bright home to-day, With mead and music and poet's lay: But gloomy and cold his children's home, For ever tossed on the briny foam.

Our wreathed feathers are thin and light When the wind blows keen through the wintry night: Yet often we were robed, long, long ago, In purple mantles and furs of snow.

On Moyle's bleak current our food and wine Are sandy sea-weed and bitter brine: Yet oft we feasted in days of old, And hazel-mead drank from cups of gold.

Our beds are rocks in the dripping caves; Our lullaby song the roar of the waves: But soft rich couches once we pressed, And harpers lulled us each night to rest.

Lonely we swim on the billowy main, Through frost and snow, through storm and rain: Alas for the days when round us moved The chiefs and princes and friends we loved!

My little twin brothers beneath my wings Lie close when the north wind bitterly stings, And Aed close nestles before my breast; Thus side by side through the night we rest.

Our father's fond kisses, Bove Derg's embrace, The light of Mannanan's G.o.dlike face, The love of Angus--all, all are o'er; And we live on the billows for evermore!

After this they bade each other farewell, for it was not permitted to the children of Lir to remain away from the stream of Moyle.

VIII.

HOW THE CHILDREN OF LIR REGAINED THEIR HUMAN SHAPE AND DIED.

Great was the misery of the Children of Lir on the sea of Moyle till their three hundred years were ended. Then Finola said to her brothers--

"It is time for us to leave this place, for our period here has come to an end."

The hour has come; the hour has come; Three hundred years have pa.s.sed: We leave this bleak and gloomy home, And we fly to the west at last!

We leave for ever the stream of Moyle; On the clear, cold wind we go; Three hundred years round Glora's Isle, Where wintry tempests blow!

No sheltered home, no place of rest, From the tempest's angry blast: Fly, brothers, fly, to the distant west, For the hour has come at last!

So the swans left the Sea of Moyle, and flew westward, till they reached the sea round the Isle of Glora. There they remained for three hundred years, suffering much from storm and cold, and in nothing better off than they were on the Sea of Moyle. Towards the end of that time, St.

Patrick came to Erin with the pure faith; and St. Kemoc, one of his companions, came to Inish Glora. The first night Kemoc came to the island, the children of Lir heard his bell at early matin time, ringing faintly in the distance. And the three sons of Lir trembled with fear, for the sound was strange and dreadful to them. But Finola knew well what it was; and she soothed them and said:--"My dear brothers, this is the voice of the Christian bell: and now the end of our suffering is near: for this bell is the signal that we shall soon be freed from our spell, and released from our life of suffering; for G.o.d has willed it."

And when the bell ceased she chanted this lay--

Listen, ye swans, to the voice of the bell, The sweet bell we've dreamed of for many a year; Its tones floating by on the night breezes, tell That the end of our long life of sorrow is near!

Listen, ye swans, to the heavenly strain; 'Tis the anch.o.r.et tolling his soft matin bell: He has come to release us, from sorrow, from pain, From the cold and tempestuous sh.o.r.es where we dwell!

Trust in the glorious Lord of the sky; He will free us from Eva's druidical spell: Be thankful and glad, for our freedom is nigh, And listen with joy to the voice of the bell!

"Let us sing our music now," said Finola.

And they chanted a low, sweet, plaintive strain of fairy music, to praise and thank the great high King of heaven and earth.

Kemoc heard the music from where he stood; and he listened with great astonishment. And he came and spoke to the swans, and asked them were they the children of Lir. They replied, "We are indeed the children of Lir, who were changed long ago into swans by the spells of the witch-lady."

"I give G.o.d thanks that I have found you," said Kemoc; "for it is on your account I have come to this little island." Then he brought them to his own house; and, sending for a skilful workman, he caused him to make two bright, slender chains of silver; and he put a chain between Finola and Aed, and the other chain he put between Ficra and Conn. And there they lived with Kemoc in content and happiness.

Now there was in that place a certain king named Largnen, whose queen was Decca: the very king and queen whom the witch-lady had foretold on the day when she changed the children into swans, nine hundred years before. And Queen Decca, hearing all about those wonderful speaking swans, wished to have them for herself: so she sent to Kemoc for them; but he refused to give them. Whereupon the queen waxed very wroth: and her husband the king, when she told him about it, was wroth also: and he set out straightway for Kemoc's house to bring the swans away by force.

The swans were at this time standing in the little church with Kemoc.

And Largnen coming up, seized the two silver chains, one in each hand, and drew the birds towards the door; while Kemoc followed him, much alarmed lest they should be injured.

The king had proceeded only a little way, when suddenly the white feathery robes faded and disappeared; and the swans regained their human shape, Finola being transformed into an extremely old woman, and the three sons into three feeble old men, white-haired and bony and wrinkled.

When the king saw this, he started with affright, and instantly left the place without speaking one word.

As to the children of Lir, they turned towards Kemoc; and Finola spoke--