white road. Daisies with wide-open eyes looked up into the blue sky
overhead. Golden glistened the buttercups among the shamrock. From the
ditches peeped forget-me-not. Honeysuckle scented the hedgerows. Around,
above, and afar, carolled the linnet, the lark, and the thrush. All was
colour and sunshine, scent and song, as the children of Lir drove onward
to their doom.
Not until they reached a still lake were the horses unyoked for rest.
There Eva bade the children undress and go bathe in the waters. And when
the children of Lir reached the water's edge, Eva was there behind them,
holding in her hand a fairy wand. And with the wand she touched the
shoulder of each. And, lo! as she touched Finola, the maiden was changed
into a snow-white swan, and behold! as she touched Aed, Fiacra, and Conn,
the three brothers were as the maid. Four snow-white swans floated on the
blue lake, and to them the wicked Eva chanted a song of doom.
[Illustration: As she touched Aed, Fiacra, and Conn, the three brothers
were as the maid]
As she finished, the swans turned towards her, and Finola spake:
'Evil is the deed thy magic wand hath wrought, O Eva, on us the children
of Lir, but greater evil shall befall thee, because of the hardness and
jealousy of thine heart.' And Finola's white swan-breast heaved as she
sang of their pitiless doom.
The song ended, again spake the swan-maiden. 'Tell us, O Eva, when death
shall set us free.'
And Eva made answer, 'Three hundred years shall your home be on the smooth
waters of this lone lake. Three hundred years shall ye pass on the stormy
waters of the sea betwixt Erin and Alba, and three hundred years shall ye
be tempest-tossed on the wild Western Sea. Until Decca be the Queen of
Largnen, and the good Saint come to Erin, and ye hear the chime of the
Christ-bell, neither your plaints nor prayers, neither the love of your
father Lir, nor the might of your King, Bove Derg, shall have power to
deliver you from your doom. But lone white swans though ye be, ye shall
keep for ever your own sweet Gaelic speech, and ye shall sing, with
plaintive voices, songs so haunting that your music will bring peace to
the souls of those who hear. And still beneath your snowy plumage shall
beat the hearts of Finola, Aed, Fiacra and Conn, and still for ever shall
ye be the children of Lir.'
Then did Eva order the horses to be yoked to the chariot, and away
westward did she drive.
And swimming on the lone lake were four white swans.
* * * * *
When Eva reached the palace of Bove Derg alone, greatly was he troubled
lest evil had befallen the children of Lir.
But the attendants, because of their great fear of Eva, dared not to tell
the King of the magic spell she had wrought by the way. Therefore Bove
Derg asked, 'Wherefore, O Eva, come not Finola and her brothers to the
palace this day?'
And Eva answered, 'Because, O King, Lir no longer trusteth thee, therefore
would he not let the children come hither.'
But Bove Derg believed not his foster-daughter, and that night he secretly
sent messengers across the hills to the dwelling of Lir.
When the messengers came there, and told their errand, great was the grief
of the father. And in the morning with a heavy heart he summoned a company
of the Dedannans, and together they set out for the palace of Bove Derg.
And it was not until sunset as they reached the lone shore of Lake Darvra,
that they slackened speed.
Lir alighted from his chariot and stood spellbound. What was that
plaintive sound? The Gaelic words, his dear daughter's voice more
enchanting even than of old, and yet, before and around, only the lone
blue lake. The haunting music rang clearer, and as the last words died
away, four snow-white swans glided from behind the sedges, and with a wild
flap of wings flew toward the eastern shore. There, stricken with wonder,
stood Lir.
'Know, O Lir,' said Finola, 'that we are thy children, changed by the
wicked magic of our step-mother into four white swans.' When Lir and the
Dedannan people heard these words, they wept aloud.
Still spake the swan-maiden. 'Three hundred years must we float on this
lone lake, three hundred years shall we be storm-tossed on the waters
between Erin and Alba, and three hundred years on the wild Western Sea.
Not until Decca be the Queen of Largnen, not until the good Saint come to
Erin and the chime of the Christ-bell be heard in the land, not until then
shall we be saved from our doom.'
Then great cries of sorrow went up from the Dedannans, and again Lir
sobbed aloud. But at the last silence fell upon his grief, and Finola told
how she and her brothers would keep for ever their own sweet Gaelic
speech, how they would sing songs so haunting that their music would bring
peace to the souls of all who heard. She told, too, how, beneath their
snowy plumage, the human hearts of Finola, Aed, Fiacra, and Conn should
still beat--the hearts of the children of Lir. 'Stay with us to-night by
the lone lake,' she ended, 'and our music will steal to you across its
moonlit waters and lull you into peaceful slumber. Stay, stay with us.'
And Lir and his people stayed on the shore that night and until the
morning glimmered. Then, with the dim dawn, silence stole over the lake.
Speedily did Lir rise, and in haste did he bid farewell to his children,
that he might seek Eva and see her tremble before him.
Swiftly did he drive and straight, until he came to the palace of Bove
Derg, and there by the waters of the Great Lake did Bove Derg meet him.
'Oh, Lir, wherefore have thy children come not hither?' And Eva stood by
the King.
Stern and sad rang the answer of Lir. 'Alas! Eva, your foster-child, hath
by her wicked magic changed them into four snow-white swans. On the blue
waters of Lake Darvra dwell Finola, Aed, Fiacra, and Conn, and thence come
I that I may avenge their doom.'
A silence as the silence of death fell upon the three, and all was still
save that Eva trembled greatly. But ere long Bove Derg spake. Fierce and
angry did he look, as, high above his foster-daughter, he held his magic
wand. Awful was his voice as he pronounced her doom. 'Wretched woman,
henceforth shalt thou no longer darken this fair earth, but as a demon of
the air shalt thou dwell in misery till the end of time.' And of a sudden
from out her shoulders grew black, shadowy wings, and, with a piercing
scream, she swirled upward, until the awe-stricken Dedannans saw nought
save a black speck vanish among the lowering clouds. And as a demon of the
air do Eva's black wings swirl her through space to this day.
But great and good was Bove Derg. He laid aside his magic wand and so
spake: 'Let us, my people, leave the Great Lake, and let us pitch our
tents on the shores of Lake Darvra. Exceeding dear unto us are the
children of Lir, and I, Bove Derg, and Lir, their father, have vowed
henceforth to make our home for ever by the lone waters where they dwell.'
And when it was told throughout the Green Island of Erin of the fate of
the children of Lir and of the vow that Bove Derg had vowed, from north,
south, east, and west did the Dedannans flock to the lake, until a mighty
host dwelt by its shores.
And by day Finola and her brothers knew not loneliness, for in the sweet
Gaelic speech they told of their joys and fears; and by night the mighty
Dedannans knew no sorrowful memories, for by haunting songs were they
lulled to sleep, and the music brought peace to their souls.
Slowly did the years go by, and upon the shoulders of Bove Derg and Lir
fell the long white hair. Fearful grew the four swans, for the time was
not far off, when they must wing their flight north to the wild sea of
Moyle.
And when at length the sad day dawned, Finola told her brothers how their
three hundred happy years on Lake Darvra were at an end, and how they must
now leave the peace of its lone waters for evermore.
Then, slowly and sadly, did the four swans glide to the margin of the
lake. Never had the snowy whiteness of their plumage so dazzled the
beholders, never had music so sweet and sorrowful floated to Lake Darvra's
sunlit shores. As the swans reached the water's edge, silent were the
three brothers, and alone Finola chanted a farewell song.
With bowed white heads did the Dedannan host listen to Finola's chant, and
when the music ceased and only sobs broke the stillness, the four swans
spread their wings, and, soaring high, paused but for one short moment to
gaze on the kneeling forms of Lir and Bove Derg. Then, stretching their
graceful necks toward the north, they winged their flight to the waters of
the stormy sea that separates the blue Alba from the Green Island of Erin.
And when it was known throughout the Green Isle that the four white swans
had flown, so great was the sorrow of the people that they made a law that
no swan should be killed in Erin from that day forth.
* * * * *
With hearts that burned with longing for their father and their friends,
did Finola and her brothers reach the sea of Moyle. Cold and chill were
its wintry waters, black and fearful were the steep rocks overhanging
Alba's far-stretching coasts. From hunger, too, the swans suffered. Dark
indeed was all, and darker yet as the children of Lir remembered the still
waters of Lake Darvra and the fond Dedannan host on its peaceful shores.
Here the sighing of the wind among the reeds no longer soothed their
sorrow, but the roar of the breaking surf struck fresh terror in their
souls.
In misery and terror did their days pass, until one night the black,
lowering clouds overhead told that a great tempest was nigh. Then did
Finola call to her Aed, Fiacra, and Conn. 'Beloved brothers, a great fear
is at my heart, for, in the fury of the coming gale, we may be driven the
one from the other. Therefore, let us say where we may hope to meet when
the storm is spent.'
And Aed answered, 'Wise art thou, dear, gentle sister. If we be driven
apart, may it be to meet again on the rocky isle that has ofttimes been
our haven, for well known is it to us all, and from far can it be seen.'
Darker grew the night, louder raged the wind, as the four swans dived and
rose again on the giant billows. Yet fiercer blew the gale, until at
midnight loud bursts of thunder mingled with the roaring wind, but, in the
glare of the blue lightning's flashes, the children of Lir beheld each the
snowy form of the other. The mad fury of the hurricane yet increased, and
the force of it lifted one swan from its wild home on the billows, and
swept it through the blackness of the night. Another blue lightning flash,
and each swan saw its loneliness, and uttered a great cry of desolation.
Tossed hither and thither, by wind and wave, the white birds were
well-nigh dead when dawn broke. And with the dawn fell calm.
Swift as her tired wings would bear her, Finola sailed to the rocky isle,
where she hoped to find her brothers. But alas! no sign was there of one
of them. Then to the highest summit of the rocks she flew. North, south,
east, and west did she look, yet nought saw she save a watery wilderness.
Now did her heart fail her, and she sang the saddest song she had yet
sung.
As the last notes died Finola raised her eyes, and lo! Conn came slowly
swimming towards her with drenched plumage and head that drooped. And as
she looked, behold! Fiacra appeared, but it was as though his strength
failed. Then did Finola swim toward her fainting brother and lend him her
aid, and soon the twins were safe on the sunlit rock, nestling for warmth
beneath their sister's wings.
Yet Finola's heart still beat with alarm as she sheltered her younger
brothers, for Aed came not, and she feared lest he were lost for ever.
But, at noon, sailing he came over the breast of the blue waters, with
head erect and plumage sunlit. And under the feathers of her breast did
Finola draw him, for Conn and Fiacra still cradled beneath her wings.
'Rest here, while ye may, dear brothers,' she said.
And she sang to them a lullaby so surpassing sweet that the sea-birds
hushed their cries and flocked to listen to the sad, slow music. And when
Aed and Fiacra and Conn were lulled to sleep, Finola's notes grew more and
more faint and her head drooped, and soon she too slept peacefully in the
warm sunlight.
But few were the sunny days on the sea of Moyle, and many were the
tempests that ruffled its waters. Still keener grew the winter frosts, and
the misery of the four white swans was greater than ever before. Even
their most sorrowful Gaelic songs told not half their woe. From the fury
of the storm they still sought shelter on that rocky isle where Finola had
despaired of seeing her dear ones more.
Slowly passed the years of doom, until one mid-winter a frost more keen
than any known before froze the sea into a floor of solid black ice. By
night the swans crouched together on the rocky isle for warmth, but each
morning they were frozen to the ground and could free themselves only with
sore pain, for they left clinging to the ice-bound rock the soft down of
their breasts, the quills from their white wings, and the skin of their
poor feet.
And when the sun melted the ice-bound surface of the waters, and the swans
swam once more in the sea of Moyle, the salt water entered their wounds,
and they well-nigh died of pain. But in time the down on their breasts and
the feathers on their wings grew, and they were healed of their wounds.
The years dragged on, and by day Finola and her brothers would fly toward
the shores of the Green Island of Erin, or to the rocky blue headlands of
Alba, or they would swim far out into a dim grey wilderness of waters. But
ever as night fell it was their doom to return to the sea of Moyle.
[Illustration: They would swim far out into a dim grey wilderness of
waters]
One day, as they looked toward the Green Isle, they saw coming to the
coast a troop of horsemen mounted on snow-white steeds, and their armour
glittered in the sun.
A cry of great joy went up from the children of Lir, for they had seen no
human form since they spread their wings above Lake Darvra, and flew to
the stormy sea of Moyle.
'Speak,' said Finola to her brothers, 'speak, and say if these be not our
own Dedannan folk.' And Aed and Fiacra and Conn strained their eyes, and
Aed answered, 'It seemeth, dear sister, to me, that it is indeed our own
people.'
As the horsemen drew nearer and saw the four swans, each man shouted in
the Gaelic tongue, 'Behold the children of Lir!'
And when Finola and her brothers heard once more the sweet Gaelic speech,
and saw the faces of their own people, their happiness was greater than
can be told. For long they were silent, but at length Finola spake.
Of their life on the sea of Moyle she told, of the dreary rains and
blustering winds, of the giant waves and the roaring thunder, of the black
frost, and of their own poor battered and wounded bodies. Of their
loneliness of soul, of that she could not speak. 'But tell us,' she went
on, 'tell us of our father, Lir. Lives he still, and Bove Derg, and our
dear Dedannan friends?'
Scarce could the Dedannans speak for the sorrow they had for Finola and
her brothers, but they told how Lir and Bove Derg were alive and well, and
were even now celebrating the Feast of Age at the house of Lir. 'But for
their longing for you, your father and friends would be happy indeed.'
Glad then and of great comfort were the hearts of Finola and her brothers.
But they could not hear more, for they must hasten to fly from the
pleasant shores of Erin to the sea-stream of Moyle, which was their doom.
And as they flew, Finola sang, and faint floated her voice over the
kneeling host.
As the sad song grew fainter and more faint, the Dedannans wept aloud.
Then, as the snow-white birds faded from sight, the sorrowful company
turned the heads of their white steeds from the shore, and rode southward
to the home of Lir.
And when it was told there of the sufferings of Finola and her brothers,
great was the sorrow of the Dedannans. Yet was Lir glad that his children
were alive, and he thought of the day when the magic spell would be
broken, and those so dear to him would be freed from their bitter woe.
* * * * *
Once more were ended three hundred years of doom, and glad were the four
white swans to leave the cruel sea of Moyle. Yet might they fly only to
the wild Western Sea, and tempest-tossed as before, here they in no way
escaped the pitiless fury of wind and wave. Worse than aught they had
before endured was a frost that drove the brothers to despair. Well-nigh
frozen to a rock, they one night cried aloud to Finola that they longed
for death. And she, too, would fain have died.
But that same night did a dream come to the swan-maiden, and, when she
awoke, she cried to her brothers to take heart. 'Believe, dear brothers,
in the great God who hath created the earth with its fruits and the sea
with its terrible wonders. Trust in Him, and He will yet save you.' And
her brothers answered, 'We will trust.'
And Finola also put her trust in God, and they all fell into a deep
slumber.
When the children of Lir awoke, behold! the sun shone, and thereafter,
until the three hundred years on the Western Sea were ended, neither wind
nor wave nor rain nor frost did hurt to the four swans.
On a grassy isle they lived and sang their wondrous songs by day, and by
night they nestled together on their soft couch, and awoke in the morning
to sunshine and to peace. And there on the grassy island was their home,
until the three hundred years were at an end. Then Finola called to her
brothers, and tremblingly she told, and tremblingly they heard, that they
might now fly eastward to seek their own old home.
Lightly did they rise on outstretched wings, and swiftly did they fly
until they reached land. There they alighted and gazed each at the other,
but too great for speech was their joy. Then again did they spread their
wings and fly above the green grass on and on, until they reached the
hills and trees that surrounded their old home. But, alas! only the ruins
of Lir's dwelling were left. Around was a wilderness overgrown with rank
grass, nettles, and weeds.
Too downhearted to stir, the swans slept that night within the ruined
walls of their old home, but, when day broke, each could no longer bear
the loneliness, and again they flew westward. And it was not until they
came to Inis Glora that they alighted. On a small lake in the heart of the
island they made their home, and, by their enchanting music, they drew to
its shores all the birds of the west, until the lake came to be called
'The Lake of the Bird-flocks.'
Slowly passed the years, but a great longing filled the hearts of the
children of Lir. When would the good Saint come to Erin? When would the
chime of the Christ-bell peal over land and sea?
One rosy dawn the swans awoke among the rushes of the Lake of the
Bird-flocks, and strange and faint was the sound that floated to them from
afar. Trembling, they nestled close the one to the other, until the
brothers stretched their wings and fluttered hither and thither in great
fear. Yet trembling they flew back to their sister, who had remained
silent among the sedges. Crouching by her side they asked, 'What, dear
sister, can be the strange, faint sound that steals across our island?'
With quiet, deep joy Finola answered, 'Dear brothers, it is the chime of
the Christ-bell that ye hear, the Christ-bell of which we have dreamed
through thrice three hundred years. Soon the spell will be broken, soon
our sufferings will end.' Then did Finola glide from the shelter of the
sedges across the rose-lit lake, and there by the shore of the Western Sea
she chanted a song of hope.
Calm crept into the hearts of the brothers as Finola sang, and, as she
ended, once more the chime stole across the isle. No longer did it strike
terror into the hearts of the children of Lir, rather as a note of peace
did it sink into their souls.
Then, when the last chime died, Finola said, 'Let us sing to the great
King of Heaven and Earth.'
Far stole the sweet strains of the white swans, far across Inis Glora,
until they reached the good Saint Kemoc, for whose early prayers the
Christ-bell had chimed.
And he, filled with wonder at the surpassing sweetness of the music, stood
mute, but when it was revealed unto him that the voices he heard were the
voices of Finola and Aed and Fiacra and Conn, who thanked the High God for
the chime of the Christ-bell, he knelt and also gave thanks, for it was to
seek the children of Lir that the Saint had come to Inis Glora.
In the glory of noon, Kemoc reached the shore of the little lake, and saw
four white swans gliding on its waters. And no need had the Saint to ask
whether these indeed were the children of Lir. Rather did he give thanks
to the High God who had brought him hither.
[Illustration: It was Saint Kemoc]
Then gravely the good Kemoc said to the swans, 'Come ye now to land, and
put your trust in me, for it is in this place that ye shall be freed from
your enchantment.'
These words the four white swans heard with great joy, and coming to the
shore they placed themselves under the care of the Saint. And he led them
to his cell, and there they dwelt with him. And Kemoc sent to Erin for a
skilful workman, and ordered that two slender chains of shining silver be
made. Betwixt Finola and Aed did he clasp one silver chain, and with the
other did he bind Fiacra and Conn.
Then did the children of Lir dwell with the holy Kemoc, and he taught them
the wonderful story of Christ that he and Saint Patrick had brought to the
Green Isle. And the story so gladdened their hearts that the misery of
their past sufferings was well-nigh forgotten, and they lived in great
happiness with the Saint. Dear to him were they, dear as though they had
been his own children.
Thrice three hundred years had gone since Eva had chanted the fate of the
children of Lir. 'Until Decca be the Queen of Largnen, until the good
Saint come to Erin, and ye hear the chime of the Christ-bell, shall ye not
be delivered from your doom.'
The good Saint had indeed come, and the sweet chimes of the Christ-bell
had been heard, and the fair Decca was now the Queen of King Largnen.
Soon were tidings brought to Decca of the swan-maiden and her three
swan-brothers. Strange tales did she hear of their haunting songs. It was
told her, too, of their cruel miseries. Then begged she her husband, the
King, that he would go to Kemoc and bring to her these human birds.
But Largnen did not wish to ask Kemoc to part with the swans, and
therefore he did not go.
Then was Decca angry, and swore she would live no longer with Largnen,
until he brought the singing swans to the palace. And that same night she
set out for her father's kingdom in the south.
Nevertheless Largnen loved Decca, and great was his grief when he heard
that she had fled. And he commanded messengers to go after her, saying he
would send for the white swans if she would but come back. Therefore Decca
returned to the palace, and Largnen sent to Kemoc to beg of him the four
white swans. But the messenger returned without the birds.
Then was Largnen wroth, and set out himself for the cell of Kemoc. But he
found the Saint in the little church, and before the altar were the four
white swans. 'Is it truly told me that you refused these birds to Queen
Decca?' asked the King.
'It is truly told,' replied Kemoc.
Then Largnen was more wroth than before, and seizing the silver chain of
Finola and Aed in the one hand, and the chain of Fiacra and Conn in the
other, he dragged the birds from the altar and down the aisle, and it
seemed as though he would leave the church. And in great fear did the
Saint follow.
But lo! as they reached the door, the snow-white feathers of the four
swans fell to the ground, and the children of Lir were delivered from
their doom. For was not Decca the bride of Largnen, and the good Saint had
he not come, and the chime of the Christ-bell was it not heard in the
land?
But aged and feeble were the children of Lir. Wrinkled were their once
fair faces, and bent their little white bodies.
At the sight Largnen, affrighted, fled from the church, and the good Kemoc
cried aloud, 'Woe to thee, O King!'