THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR
Now at the time when the Tuatha de Danaan chose a king for themselves
after the battle of Tailltin, and Lir heard the kingship was given to
Bodb Dearg, it did not please him, and he left the gathering without
leave and with no word to any one; for he thought it was he himself had
a right to be made king. But if he went away himself, Bodb was given the
kingship none the less, for not one of the five begrudged it to him but
only Lir. And it is what they determined, to follow after Lir, and to
burn down his house, and to attack himself with spear and sword, on
account of his not giving obedience to the king they had chosen. "We
will not do that," said Bodb Dearg, "for that man would defend any place
he is in; and besides that," he said, "I am none the less king over the
Tuatha de Danaan, although he does not submit to me."
All went on like that for a good while, but at last a great misfortune
came on Lir, for his wife died from him after a sickness of three
nights. And that came very hard on Lir, and there was heaviness on his
mind after her. And there was great talk of the death of that woman in
her own time.
And the news of it was told all through Ireland, and it came to the
house of Bodb, and the best of the Men of Dea were with him at that
time. And Bodb said: "If Lir had a mind for it," he said, "my help and
my friendship would be good for him now, since his wife is not living to
him. For I have here with me the three young girls of the best shape,
and the best appearance, and the best name in all Ireland, Aobh, Aoife,
and Aihbhe, the three daughters of Oilell of Aran, my own three
nurselings." The Men of Dea said then it was a good thought he had, and
that what he said was true.
Messages and messengers were sent then from Bodb Dearg to the place Lir
was, to say that if he had a mind to join with the Son of the Dagda and
to acknowledge his lordship, he would give him a foster-child of his
foster-children. And Lir thought well of the offer, and he set out on
the morrow with fifty chariots from Sidhe Fionna-chaidh; and he went by
every short way till he came to Bodb's dwelling-place at Loch Dearg, and
there was a welcome before him there, and all the people were merry and
pleasant before him, and he and his people got good attendance that
night.
And the three daughters of Oilell of Aran were sitting on the one seat
with Bodb Dearg's wife, the queen of the Tuatha de Danaan, that was
their foster-mother. And Bodb said: "You may have your choice of the
three young girls, Lir." "I cannot say," said Lir, "which one of them is
my choice, but whichever of them is the eldest, she is the noblest, and
it is better for me to take her." "If that is so," said Bodb, "it is
Aobh is the eldest, and she will be given to you, if it is your wish."
"It is my wish," he said. And he took Aobh for his wife that night, and
he stopped there for a fortnight, and then he brought her away to his
own house, till he would make a great wedding-feast.
And in the course of time Aobh brought forth two children, a daughter
and a son, Fionnuala and Aodh their names were. And after a while she
was brought to bed again, and this time she gave birth to two sons, and
they called them Fiachra and Conn. And she herself died at their birth.
And that weighed very heavy on Lir, and only for the way his mind was
set on his four children he would have gone near to die of grief.
The news came to Bodb Dearg's place, and all the people gave out three
loud, high cries, keening their nursling. And after they had keened her
it is what Bodb Dearg said: "It is a fret to us our daughter to have
died, for her own sake and for the sake of the good man we gave her to,
for we are thankful for his friendship and his faithfulness. However,"
he said, "our friendship with one another will not be broken, for I will
give him for a wife her sister Aoife."
When Lir heard that he came for the girl and married her, and brought
her home to his house. And there was honour and affection with Aoife for
her sister's children; and indeed no person at all could see those four
children without giving them the heart's love.
And Bodb Dearg used often to be going to Lir's house for the sake of
those children; and he used to bring them to his own place for a good
length of time, and then he would let them go back to their own place
again. And the Men of Dea were at that time using the Feast of Age in
every hill of the Sidhe in turn; and when they came to Lir's hill those
four children were their joy and delight for the beauty of their
appearance; and it is where they used to sleep, in beds in sight of
their father Lir. And he used to rise up at the break of every morning,
and to lie down among his children.
But it is what came of all this, that a fire of jealousy was kindled in
Aoife, and she got to have a dislike and a hatred of her sister's
children.
Then she let on to have a sickness, that lasted through nearly the
length of a year. And the end of that time she did a deed of jealousy
and cruel treachery against the children of Lir.
And one day she got her chariot yoked, and she took the four children in
it, and they went forward toward the house of Bodb Dearg; but Fionnuala
had no mind to go with her, for she knew by her she had some plan for
their death or their destruction, and she had seen in a dream that there
was treachery against them in Aoife's mind. But all the same she was not
able to escape from what was before her.
And when they were on their way Aoife said to her people: "Let you kill
now," she said, "the four children of Lir, for whose sake their father
has given up my love, and I will give you your own choice of a reward
out of all the good things of the world." "We will not do that indeed,"
said they; "and it is a bad deed you have thought of, and harm will come
to you out of it."
And when they would not do as she bade them, she took out a sword
herself to put an end to the children with; but she being a woman and
with no good courage, and with no great strength in her mind, she was
not able to do it.
They went on then west to Loch Dairbhreach, the Lake of the Oaks, and
the horses were stopped there. And Aoife bade the children of Lir to go
out and bathe in the lake, and they did as she bade them. And as soon as
Aoife saw them out in the lake she struck them with a Druid rod, and put
on them the shape of four swans, white and beautiful. And it is what she
said: "Out with you, children of the king, your luck is taken away from
you forever; it is sorrowful the story will be to your friends it is
with flocks of birds your cries will be heard for ever."
And Fionnuala said: "Witch, we know now what your name is, you have
struck us down with no hope of relief; but although you put us from wave
to wave, there are times when we will touch the land. We shall get help
when we are seen; help, and all that is best for us; even though we have
to sleep upon the lake, it is our minds will be going abroad early."
And then the four children of Lir turned toward Aoife, and this is what
Fionnuala said: "It is a bad deed you have done, Aoife, and it is a bad
fulfilling of friendship, you to destroy us without cause; and vengeance
for it will come upon you, and you will fall in satisfaction for it, for
your power for our destruction is not greater than the power of our
friends to avenge it on you; and put some bounds now," she said, "to the
time this enchantment is to stop on us." "I will do that," said Aoife,
"and it is worse for you, you to have asked it of me. And the bounds I I
set to your time are this, till the Woman from the South and the Man
from the North will come together. And since you ask to hear it of me,"
she said, "no friends and no power that you have will be able to bring
you out of these shapes you are in through the length of your lives,
until you have been three hundred years on Loch Dairbhreach, and three
hundred years on Sruth na Maoile between Ireland and Alban, and three
hundred years at Irrus Domnann and Inis Gluaire; and these are to be
your journeys from this out," she said.
But then repentance came on Aoife, and she said: "Since there is no
other help for me to give you now, you may keep your own speech; and you
will be singing sweet music in the Sidhe, that would put the men of the
earth to sleep, and there will be no music in the world equal to it; and
your own sense and your own nobility will stay with you, the way it will
not weigh so heavy on you to be in the shape of birds. And go away out
of my sight now, children of Lir," she said, "with your white faces,
with your stammering Irish. It is a great curse on tender lads, they to
be driven out on the rough wind. Nine hundred years to be on the water,
it is a long time for any one to be in pain; it is I put this on you
through treachery, it is best for you to do as I tell you now.
"Lir, that got victory with so many a good cast, his heart is a kernel
of death in him now; the groaning of the great hero is a sickness to me,
though it is I that have well earned his anger."
And then the horses were caught for Aoife, and the chariot yoked for
her, and she went on to the palace of Bodb Dearg, and there was a
welcome before her from the chief people of the place. And the son of
the Dagda asked her why she did not bring the children of Lir with her.
"I will tell you that," she said. "It is because Lir has no liking for
you, and he will not trust you with his children, from fear you might
keep them from him altogether."
"I wonder at that," said Bodb Dearg, "for those children are dearer to
me than my own children." And he thought in his own mind it was deceit
the woman was doing on him, and it is what he did, he sent messengers to
the North to Sidhe Fionnachaidh. And Lir asked them what did they come
for. "On the head of your children," said they. "Are they not gone to
you along with Aoife?" he said. "They are not," said they; "and Aoife
said it was yourself would not let them come."
It is downhearted and sorrowful Lir was at that news, for he understood
well it was Aoife had destroyed or made an end of his children. And
early in the morning of the morrow his horses were caught, and he set
out on the road to the Southwest. And when he was as far as the shore of
Loch Dairbhreach, the four children saw the horses coming toward them,
and it is what Fionnuala said: "A welcome to the troop of horses I see
coming near to the lake; the people they are bringing are strong, there
is sadness on them; it is us they are following, it is for us they are
looking; let us move over to the shore, Aodh, Fiachra, and comely Conn.
Those that are coming can be no others in the world but only Lir and his
household."
Then Lir came to the edge of the lake, and he took notice of the swans
having the voice of living people, and he asked them why was it they had
that voice.
"I will tell you that, Lir," said Fionnuala. "We are your own four
children, that are after being destroyed by your wife, and by the sister
of our own mother, through the dint of her jealousy." "Is there any way
to put you into your own shapes again?" said Lir. "There is no way,"
said Fionnuala, "for all the men of the world could not help us till we
have gone through our time, and that will not be," she said, "till the
end of nine hundred years."
When Lir and his people heard that, they gave out three great heavy
shouts of grief and sorrow and crying.
"Is there a mind with you," said Lir, "to come to us on the land, since
you have not your own sense and your memory yet?" "We have not the
power," said Fionnuala, "to live with any person at all from this time;
but we have our own language, the Irish, and we have the power to sing
sweet music, and it is enough to satisfy the whole race of men to be
listening to that music. And let you stop here to-night," she said, "and
we will be making music for you."
So Lir and his people stopped there listening to the music of the swans,
and they slept there quietly that night. And Lir rose up early on the
morning of the morrow and he made this complaint:
"It is time to go out from this place. I do not sleep though I am in my
lying down. To be parted from my dear children, it is that is tormenting
my heart.
"It is a bad net I put over you, bringing Aoife, daughter of Oilell of
Aran, to the house. I would never have followed that advice if I had
known what it would bring upon me.
"O Fionnuala, and comely Conn, O Aodh, O Fiachra of the beautiful arms;
it is not ready I am to go away from you, from the border of the harbour
where you are."
Then Lir went on to the palace of Bodb Dearg, and there was a welcome
before him there; and he got a reproach from Bodb Dearg for not bringing
his children along with him. "My grief!" said Lir. "It is not I that
would not bring my children along with me; it was Aoife there beyond,
your own foster-child and the sister of their mother, that put them in
the shape of four white swans on Loch Dairbhreach, in the sight of the
whole of the men of Ireland; but they have their sense with them yet,
and their reason, and their voice, and their Irish."
Bodb Dearg gave a great start when he heard that, and he knew what Lir
said was true, and he gave a very sharp reproach to Aoife, and he said:
"This treachery will be worse for yourself in the end, Aoife, than to
the children of Lir. And what shape would you yourself think worst of
being in?" he said.
"I would think worst of being a witch of the air," she said. "It is into
that shape I will put you now." said Bodb. And with that he struck her
with a Druid wand, and she was turned into a witch of the air there and
then, and she went away on the wind in that shape, and she is in it yet,
and will be in it to the end of life and time.
As to Bodb Dearg and the Tuatha de Danaan they came to the shore of Loch
Dairbhreach, and they made their camp there to be listening to the music
of the swans.
And the Sons of the Gael used to be coming no less than the Men of Dea
to hear them from every part of Ireland, for there never was any music
or any delight, heard in Ireland to compare with that music of the
swans. And they used to be telling stories, and to be talking with the
men of Ireland every day, and with their teachers and their
fellow-pupils and their friends. And every night they used to sing very
sweet music of the Sidhe; and every one that heard that music would
sleep sound and quiet whatever trouble or long sickness might be on him;
for every one that heard the music of the birds, it is happy and
contented he would be after it.
These two gatherings now of the Tuatha de Danaan and of the Sons of the
Gael stopped there around Loch Dairbhreach through the length of three
hundred years. And it is then Fionnuala said to her brothers: "Do you
know," she said, "we have spent all we have to spend of our time here,
but this one night only."
And there was great sorrow on the sons of Lir when they heard that, for
they thought it the same as to be living people again, to be talking
with their friends and their companions on Loch Dairbhreach, in
comparison with going on the cold, fretful sea of the Maoil in the
North.
And they came early on the morrow to speak with their father and with
their foster-father, and they bade them farewell, and Fionnuala made
this complaint:
"Farewell to you, Bodb Dearg, the man with whom all knowledge is in
pledge. And farewell to our father along with you, Lir of the Hill of
the White Field.
"The time is come, as I think, for us to part from you, O pleasant
company; my grief it is not on a visit we are going to you.
"From this day out, O friends of our heart, our comrades, it is on the
tormented course of the Maoil we will be, without the voice of any
person near us.
"There hundred years there, and three hundred years in the bay of the
men of Domnann, it is a pity for the four comely children of Lir, the
salt waves of the sea to be their covering by night.
"O three brothers, with the ruddy faces gone from you, let them all
leave the lake now, the great troop that loved us, it is sorrowful our
parting is."
After that complaint they took to flight, lightly, airily, till they
came to Sruth na Maoile between Ireland and Alban. And that was a grief
to the men of Ireland, and they gave out an order no swan was to be
killed from that out, whatever chance there might be of killing one, all
through Ireland.
It was a bad dwelling-place for the children of Lir they to be on Sruth
na Maoile. When they saw the wide coast about them, they were filled
with cold and with sorrow, and they thought nothing of all they had gone
through before, in comparison to what they were going through on that
sea.
Now one night while they were there a great storm came on them, and it
is what Fionnuala said: "My dear brothers," she said, "it is a pity for
us not to be making ready for this night, for it is certain the storm
will separate us from one another. And let us," she said, "settle on
some place where we can meet afterward, if we are driven from one
another in the night."
"Let us settle," said the others, "to meet one another at Carraig na
Ron, the Rock of the Seals, for we all have knowledge of it."
And when midnight came, the wind came on them with it, and the noise of
the waves increased, and the lightning was flashing, and a rough storm
came sweeping down; the way the children of Lir were scattered over the
great sea, and the wideness of it set them astray, so that no one of
them could know what way the others went. But after that storm a great
quiet came on the sea, and Fionnuala was alone on Sruth na Maoile; and
when she took notice that her brothers were wanting she was lamenting
after them greatly, and she made this complaint:
"It is a pity for me to be alive in the state I am; it is frozen to my
sides my wings are; it is little that the wind has not broken my heart
in my body, with the loss of Aodh.
"To be three hundred years on Loch Dairbhreach without going into my own
shape, it is worse to me the time I am on Sruth na Maoile.
"The three I loved, Och! the three I loved, that slept under the shelter
of my feathers; till the dead come back to the living I will see them no
more for ever.
"It is a pity I to stay after Fiachra, and after Aodh, and after comely
Conn, and with no account of them; my grief I to be here to face every
hardship this night."
She stopped all night there upon the Rock of the Seals until the rising
of the sun, looking out over the sea on every side till at last she saw
Conn coming to her, his feathers wet through and his head hanging, and
her heart gave him a great welcome; and then Fiachra came wet and
perished and worn out, and he could not say a word they could understand
with the dint of the cold and the hardship he had gone through. And
Fionnuala put him under her wings, and she said: "We would be well off
now if Aodh would but come to us."
It was not long after that, they saw Aodh coming, his head dry and his
feathers beautiful, and Fionnuala gave him a great welcome, and she put
him in under the feathers of her breast, and Fiachra under her right
wing and Conn under her left wing, the way she could put her feathers
over them all. "And Och! my brothers," she said, "this was a bad night
to us, and it is many of its like are before us from this out."
They stayed there a long time after that, suffering cold and misery on
the Maoil, till at last a night came on them they had never known the
like of before, for frost and snow and wind and cold. And they were
crying and lamenting the hardship of their life, and the cold of the
night and the greatness of the snow and the hardness of the wind. And
after they had suffered cold to the end of a year, a worse night again
came on them, in the middle of winter. And they were on Carraig na Ron,
and the water froze about them, and as they rested on the rock, their
feet and their wings and their feathers froze to the rock, the way they
were not able to move from it. And they made such a hard struggle to get
away, that they left the skin of their feet and their feathers and the
tops of their wings on the rock after them.
"My grief, children of Lir," said Fionnuala, "it is bad our state is
now, for we cannot bear the salt water to touch us, and there are bonds
on us not to leave it; and if the salt water goes into our sores," she
said, "we will get our death." And she made this complaint:
"It is keening we are to-night; without feathers to cover our bodies; it
is cold the rough, uneven rocks are under our bare feet.
"It is bad our stepmother was to us the time she played enchantments on
us, sending us out like swans upon the sea.
"Our washing place is on the ridge of the bay, in the foam of flying
manes of the sea; our share of the ale feast is the salt water of the
blue tide.
"One daughter and three sons; it is in the clefts of the rocks we are;
it is on the hard rocks we are, it is a pity the way we are."
However, they came on to the course of the Maoil again, and the salt
water was sharp and rough and bitter to them, but if it was itself, they
were not able to avoid it or to get shelter from it. And they were there
by the shore under that hardship till such time as their feathers grew
again, and their wings, and till their sores were entirely healed. And
then they used to go every day to the shore of Ireland or of Alhan, but
they had to come back to Sruth na Maoile every night.
Now they came one day to the mouth of the Banna, to the north of
Ireland, and they saw a troop of riders, beautiful, of the one colour,
with well-trained pure white horses under them, and they travelling the
road straight from the Southwest.
"Do you know who those riders are, sons of Lir?" said Fionnuala.
"We do not," they said; "but it is likely they might be some troop of
the Sons of the Gael, or of the Tuatha de Danaan."
They moved over closer to the shore then, that they might know who they
were, and when the riders saw them they came to meet them until they
were able to hold talk together.
And the chief men among them were two sons of Bodb Dearg, Aodh
Aithfhiosach, of the quick wits, and Fergus Fithchiollach, of the chess,
and a third part of the Riders of the Sidhe along with them, and it was
for the swans they had been looking for a long while before that, and
when they came together they wished one another a kind and loving
welcome.
And the children of Lir asked for news of all the men of Dea, and above
all of Lir, and Bodb Dearg and their people.
"They are well, and they are in the one place together," said they, "in
your father's house at Sidhe Fionnachaidh, using the Feast of Age
pleasantly and happily, and with no uneasiness on them, only for being
without yourselves, and without knowledge of what happened you from the
day you left Loch Dairbhreach."
"That has not been the way with us," said Fionnuala, "for we have gone
through great hardship and uneasiness and misery on the tides of the sea
until this day."
And she made this complaint:
"There is delight to-night with the household of Lir! Plenty of ale with
them and of wine, although it is in a cold dwelling-place this night are
the four children of the King.
"It is without a spot our bedclothes are, our bodies covered over with
curved feathers; but it is often we were dressed in purple, and we
drinking pleasant mead.
"It is what our food is and our drink, the white sand and the bitter
water of the sea; it is often we drank mead of hazel nuts from round
four-lipped drinking cups.
"It is what our beds are, bare rocks out of the power of the waves; it
is often there used to be spread out for us beds of the breast feathers
of birds.
"Though it is our work now to be swimming through the frost and through
the noise of the waves, it is often a company of the sons of kings were
riding after us to the Hill of Bodb.
"It is what wasted my strength, to be going and coming over the current
of the Maoil the way I never was used to, and never to be in the
sunshine on the soft grass.
"Fiachra's bed and Conn's bed is to come under the cover of my wings on
the sea. Aodh has his place under the feathers of my breast, the four of
us side by side.
"The teaching of Manannan without deceit, the talk of Bodb Dearg on the
pleasant ridge; the voice of Angus, his sweet kisses; it is by their
side I used to be without grief."
After that the riders went on to Lir's house, and they told the chief
men of the Tuatha de Danaan all the birds had gone through, and the
state they were in. "We have no power over them," the chief men said,
"but we are glad they are living yet, for they will get help in the end
of time."
As to the children of Lir, they went back toward their old place in the
Maoil, and they stopped there till the time they had to spend in it, was
spent. And then Fionnuala said: "The time is come for us to leave this
place. And it is to Irrus Domnann we must go now," she said, "after our
three hundred years here. And indeed there will be no rest for us there,
or any standing ground, or any shelter from the storms. But since it is
time for us to go, let us set out on the cold wind, the way we will not
go astray."
So they set out in that way, and left Sruth na Maoile behind them, and
went to the point of Irrus Domnann, and there they stopped, and it is a
life of misery and a cold life they led there. And one time the sea
froze about them that they could not move at all, and the brothers were
lamenting, and Fionnuala was comforting them, for she knew there would
help come to them in the end.
And they stayed at Irrus Domnann till the time they had to spend there
was spent. And then Fionnuala said: "The time is come for us to go back
to Sidhe Fionnachaidh, where our father is with his household and with
all our own people."
"It pleases us well to hear that," they said.
So they set out flying through the air lightly till they came to Sidhe
Fionnachaidh; and it is how they found the place, empty before them, and
nothing in it but green hillocks and thickets of nettles, without a
house, without a fire, without a hearthstone. And the four pressed close
to one another then, and they gave out three sorrowful cries, and
Fionnuala made this complaint:
"It is a wonder to me this place is, and it without a house, without a
dwelling-place. To see it the way it is now, Ochonel it is bitterness to
my heart.
"Without dogs, without hounds for hunting, without women, without great
kings; we never knew it to be like this when our father was in it,
"Without horns, without cups, without drinking in the lighted house;
without young men, without riders; the way it is to-night is a
foretelling of sorrow.
"The people of the place to be as they are now, Ochone! it is grief to
my heart! It is plain to my mind to-night the lord of the house is not
living.
"Och, house where we used to see music and playing and the gathering of
people! I think it is a great change to see it lonely the way it is
to-night.
"The greatness of the hardships we have gone through going from one wave
to another of the sea, we never heard of the like of them coming on any
other person.
"It is seldom this place had its part with grass and bushes; the man is
not living that would know us, it would be a wonder to him to see us
here."
However, the children of Lir stopped that night in their father's place
and their grandfather's, where they had been reared, and they were
singing very sweet music of the Sidhe. And they rose up early on the
morning of the morrow and went to Inis Gluarie, and all the birds of the
country gathered near them on Loch na-n Ean, the Lake of the Birds. And
they used to go out to feed every day to the far parts of the country,
to Inis Geadh and to Accuill, the place Donn, son of Miled, and his
people that were drowned were buried, and to all the western islands of
Connacht, and they used to go back to Inis Gluaire every night.
It was about that time it happened them to meet with a young man of good
race, and his name was Aibric; and he often took notice of the birds,
and their singing was sweet to him and he loved them greatly, and they
loved him. And it is this young man that told the whole story of all
that had happened them, and put it in order.
And the story he told of what happened them in the end is this.
It was after the faith of Christ and blessed Patrick came into Ireland,
that Saint Mochaomhog came to Inis Gluaire. And the first night he came
to the island, the children of Lir heard the voice of his bell, ringing
near them. And the brothers started up with fright when they heard it.
"We do not know," they said, "what is that weak, unpleasing voice we
hear."
"That is the voice of the bell of Mochaomhog," said Fionnuala; "and it
is through that bell," she said, "you will be set free from pain and
from misery."
They listened to that music of the bell till the matins were done, and
then they began to sing the low, sweet music of the Sidhe.
And Mochaomhog was listening to them, and he prayed to God to show him
who was singing that music, and it was showed to him that the children
of Lir were singing it. And on the morning of the morrow he went forward
to the Lake of the Birds, and he saw the swans before him on the lake,
and he went down to them at the brink of the shore. "Are you the
children of Lir?" he said.
"We are indeed," said they.
"I give thanks to God for that," said he, "for it is for your sakes I am
come to this island beyond any other island, and let you come to land
now," he said, "and give your trust to me, that you may do good deeds
and part from your sins."
They came to the land after that, and they put trust in Mochaomhog, and
he brought them to his own dwelling-place, and they used to be hearing
Mass with him. And he got a good smith and bade him make chains of
bright silver for them, and he put a chain between Aodh and Fionnuala,
and a chain between Conn and Fachra, And the four of them were raising
his heart and gladdening his mind, and no danger and no distress that
was on the swans before put any trouble on them now.
Now the king of Connacht at that time was Lairgnen, son of Colman, son
of Colman, son of Cobthach, and Deoch, daughter of Finghin, was his
wife. And that was the coming together of the Man from the North and the
Woman from the South, that Aoife had spoken of.
And the woman heard talk of the birds, and a great desire came on her to
get them, and she bade Lairgnen to bring them to her, and he said he
would ask them of Mochaomhog.
And she gave her word she would not stop another night with him unless
he would bring them to her. And she set out from the house there and
then. And Lairgnen sent messengers after her to bring her back, and they
did not overtake her till she was at Cill Dun. She went back home with
them then, and Lairgnen sent messengers to ask the birds of Mochaomhog,
and he did not get them.
There was great anger on Lairgnen then, and he went himself to the place
Mochaomhog was, and he asked was it true he had refused him the birds.
"It is true indeed," said he. At that Lairgnen rose up, and he took hold
of the swans, and pulled them off the altar, two birds in each hand, to
bring them away to Deoch. But no sooner had he laid his hand on them
than their bird skins fell off, and what was in their place was three
lean, withered old men and a thin withered old woman, without blood or
flesh.
And Lairgnen gave a great start at that, and he went out from the place.
It is then Fionnuala said to Mochaomhog: "Come and baptise us now, for
it is short till our death comes; and it is certain you do not think
worse of parting with us than we do of parting with you. And make our
grave afterward," she said, "and lay Conn on my right side and Fiachra
on my left side, and Aodh before my face, between my two arms. And pray
to the God of Heaven," she said, "that you may he able to baptise us."
The children of Lir were baptised then, and they died and were buried as
Fionnuala had desired; Fiachra and Conn one at each side of her, and
Aohd before her face. And a stone was put over them, and their names
were written in Ogham, and they were keened there, and heaven was gained
for their souls.
And that is the fate of the children of Lir.