Old Celtic Romances Part 5

So they set out once more, and fared on till they came to the sh.o.r.e of Lake Darvra,[XIV.] where they alighted, and the horses were unyoked.

She led the children to the edge of the lake, and told them to go to bathe; and as soon as they had got into the clear water, she struck them one by one with a druidical[3] fairy wand, and turned them into four beautiful snow-white swans. And she addressed them in these words--

Out to your home, ye swans, on Darvra's wave; With clamorous birds begin your life of gloom: Your friends shall weep your fate, but none can save; For I've p.r.o.nounced the dreadful words of doom.

After this, the four children of Lir turned their faces to their stepmother; and Finola spoke--

"Evil is the deed thou hast done, O Eva; thy friends.h.i.+p to us has been a friends.h.i.+p of treachery; and thou hast ruined us without cause. But the deed will be avenged; for the power of thy witchcraft is not greater than the druidical power of our friends to punish thee; and the doom that awaits thee shall be worse than ours."

Our stepmother loved us long ago; Our stepmother now has wrought us woe: With magical wand and fearful words, She changed us to beautiful snow-white birds; And we live on the waters for evermore, By tempests driven from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e.

Finola again spoke and said, "Tell us now how long we shall be in the shape of swans, so that we may know when our miseries shall come to an end."

"It would be better for you if you had not put that question," said Eva; "but I shall declare the truth to you, as you have asked me. Three hundred years on smooth Lake Darvra; three hundred years on the Sea of Moyle, between Erin and Alban;[XV.] three hundred years at Irros Domnann and Inis Glora[XVI.] on the Western Sea. Until the union of Largnen, the prince from the north, with Decca, the princess from the south; until the Taillkenn[XVII.] shall come to Erin, bringing the light of a pure faith; and until ye hear the voice of the Christian bell. And neither by your own power, nor by mine, nor by the power of your friends, can ye be freed till the time comes."

Then Eva repented what she had done; and she said, "Since I cannot afford you any other relief, I will allow you to keep your own Gaelic speech; and ye shall be able to sing sweet, plaintive, fairy music, which shall excel all the music of the world, and which shall lull to sleep all that listen to it. Moreover, ye shall retain your human reason; and ye shall not be in grief on account of being in the shape of swans."

And she chanted this lay--

Depart from me, ye graceful swans; The waters are now your home: Your palace shall be the pearly cave, Your couch the crest of the crystal wave, And your mantle the milk-white foam!

Depart from me, ye snow-white swans With your music and Gaelic speech: The crystal Darvra, the wintry Moyle, The billowy margin of Glora's isle;-- Three hundred years on each!

Victorious Lir, your hapless sire, His lov'd ones in vain shall call; His weary heart is a husk of gore, His home is joyless for evermore, And his anger on me shall fall!

Through circling ages of gloom and fear Your anguish no tongue can tell; Till Faith shall shed her heavenly rays, Till ye hear the Taillkenn's anthem of praise, And the voice of the Christian bell!

Then ordering her steeds to be yoked to her chariot she departed westwards, leaving the four white swans swimming on the lake.

Our father shall watch and weep in vain; He never shall see us return again.

Four pretty children, happy at home; Four white swans on the feathery foam; And we live on the waters for evermore, By tempests driven from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e.

FOOTNOTES:

[XIII.] The word "fratricide" is the nearest English equivalent to the original word, _fionghal_, which means the murder of a relative.

[XIV.] Lake Darvra, now Lough Derravaragh, in Westmeath.

[XV.] The sea between Erin and Alban (Ireland and Scotland) was anciently called the Sea of Moyle, from the Moyle, or Mull, of Cantire.

[XVI.] Irros Domnann; Erris, in the county Mayo. Inis Glora; a small island about five miles west from Belmullet, in the same county, still known by the same name.

[XVII.] Taillkenn, a name given by the druids to St. Patrick.

CHAPTER IV.

THE FOUR WHITE SWANS ON LAKE DARVRA.

When Eva arrived at the house of Bove Derg, the chiefs bade her welcome; and the king asked her why she had not brought the Children of Lir to him.

"Because," she replied, "Lir no longer loves thee; and he does not wish to intrust his children to thee, lest thou shouldst harm them."

The king was greatly astonished and troubled at this, and he said, "How can that be? For I love those children better than I love my own."

But he thought in his own mind that Eva had played some treachery on them. And he sent messengers with all speed northwards to Shee Finnaha, to inquire for the children, and to ask that they might be sent to him.

When the messengers had told their errand, Lir was startled; and he asked, "Have the children not reached the palace with Eva?"

They answered, "Eva arrived alone, and she told the king that you refused to let the children come."

A sad and sorrowful heart had Lir when he heard this; and he now felt sure that Eva had destroyed his four lovely children. So, early next morning, his chariot was yoked for him, and he set out with his attendants for the king's palace; and they travelled with all speed till they arrived at the sh.o.r.e of Lake Darvra.

The children of Lir saw the cavalcade approaching; and Finola spoke these words--

I see a mystic warrior band From yonder brow approach the strand; I see them winding down the vale, Their bending chariots slow advancing; I see their s.h.i.+elds and gilded mail, Their spears and helmets brightly glancing.

Ah! well I know that proud array; I know too well their thoughts to-day: The Dannan host and royal Lir; Four rosy children they are seeking: Too soon, alas! they find us here, Four snowy swans like children speaking!

Come, brothers dear, approach the coast, To welcome Lir's mysterious host.

Oh, woful welcome! woful day, That never brings a bright to-morrow!

Unhappy father, doomed for aye To mourn our fate in hopeless sorrow!

When Lir came to the sh.o.r.e, he heard the birds speaking, and, wondering greatly, he asked them how it came to pa.s.s that they had human voices.

"Know, O Lir," said Finola, "that we are thy four children, who have been changed into swans and ruined by the witchcraft of our stepmother, our own mother's sister, Eva, through her baleful jealousy."

When Lir and his people heard this, they uttered three long mournful cries of grief and lamentation.

After a time, their father asked them, "Is it possible to restore you to your own shapes?"

"It is not possible," replied Finola; "no man has the power to release us until Largnen from the north and Decca from the south are united.

Three hundred years we shall be on Lake Darvra; three hundred years on the sea-stream of Moyle; three hundred years on the Sea of Glora in the west. And we shall not regain our human shape till the Taillkenn come with his pure faith into Erin, and until we hear the voice of the Christian bell."

And again the people raised three great cries of sorrow.

"As you have your speech and your reason," said Lir, "come now to land, and ye shall live at home, conversing with me and my people."

"We are not permitted to leave the waters of the lake, and we cannot live with our people any more. But the wicked Eva has allowed us to retain our human reason, and our own Gaelic speech; and we have also the power to chant plaintive, fairy music, so sweet that those who listen to us would never desire any other happiness. Remain with us to-night, and we will chant our music for you."

Lir and his people remained on the sh.o.r.e of the lake; and the swans sang their slow, fairy music, which was so sweet and sad, that the people, as they listened, fell into a calm, gentle sleep.

At the glimmer of dawn next morning, Lir arose, and he bade farewell to his children for a while, to seek out Eva.

The time has come for me to part:-- No more, alas! my children dear, Your rosy smiles shall glad my heart, Or light the gloomy home of Lir.