Читать книгу A Reading Book in Irish History - P. W. Joyce - Страница 10

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Lir and his people, hearing that Eva had arrived at Bove Derg's palace without the children, became alarmed, and went southwards without delay; till passing by the shore of Lake Darvra, they saw the swans. And the swans swam up and spoke to them, at which they wondered greatly. But when they told Lir that they were indeed his four children whom the witch-lady had turned into birds, he and his people were struck with amazement and horror; and they uttered three long mournful cries of grief and lamentation. And when Lir had heard from Finola how the matter happened, he prepared to set out in quest of Eva. And bidding farewell to the children for a time, he chanted this lay:—

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.

Dark was the day when first I brought

This Eva in my home to dwell!

Hard was the woman's heart that wrought

This cruel and malignant spell!

I lay me down to rest in vain;

For, through the livelong, sleepless night,

My little lov'd ones, pictured plain,

Stand ever there before my sight.

Finola, once my pride and joy;

Dark Aed, adventurous and bold; Bright Ficra, gentle, playful boy; And little Conn, with curls of gold;—

Struck down on Darvra's reedy shore,

By wicked Eva's magic power:

Oh, children, children, never more

My heart shall know one peaceful hour.

After this he fared southwards till he arrived at the palace, where he found Eva. And the king, Bove Derg, when Lir had told him what Eva had done, was in great wrath; for he loved those little children. And calling Eva to him he spoke to her fiercely and asked her what shape of all others, on the earth, or above the earth, or beneath the earth, she most abhorred, and into which she most dreaded to be transformed.

And she, being forced to answer truly, said, "A demon of the air."

"That is the form you shall take," said Bove Derg; and as he spoke he struck Eva with a druidical magic wand, and turned her into a demon of the air. She opened her wings, and flew with a scream upwards and away through the clouds; and she is still a demon of the air, and she shall be a demon of the air till the end of time.

After this, Lir and the Dedannans came to live on the shore of the lake, to be near the swans and to speak with them. And so the swans passed their time on the waters. During the day they discoursed lovingly with their father and their friends; and at night they chanted their slow, sweet, fairy music, the most delightful that was ever heard by men; so that all who listened to it, even those who were in grief, or sickness, or pain, forgot their sorrows and their sufferings, and fell into a gentle, sweet sleep from which they awoke bright and happy.

At last the three hundred years[11] came to an end, and Finola said to her brothers:—

"Do you know, my dear brothers, that we have come to the end of our time here; and that we have only this one night to spend on Lake Darvra?"

When the three sons of Lir heard this, they were in great distress and sorrow; for they were almost as happy on Lake Darvra, surrounded by their friends, and conversing with them day by day, as if they had been in their father's house in their own natural shapes; whereas they should now live on the gloomy and tempest-tossed Sea of Moyle, far away from all human society.

Early next morning, the swans came to the margin of the lake to speak to their father and their friends for the last time, and to bid them farewell; and Finola chanted this lay—

I.

Farewell, farewell, our father dear!

The last sad hour has come:

Farewell, Bove Derg! farewell to all,

Till the dreadful day of doom! We go from friends and scenes beloved, To a home of grief and pain; And that day of woe Shall come and go, Before we meet again!

II.

We live for ages on stormy Moyle,

In loneliness and fear;

The kindly words of loving friends

We never more shall hear.

Four joyous children long ago;

Four snow-white swans to-day;

And on Moyle's wild sea

Our robe shall be

The cold and briny spray.

III.

Far down on the misty stream of time,

When three hundred years are o'er,

Three hundred more in storm and cold,

By Glora's desolate shore; Till Decca fair is Largnen's spouse; Till north and south unite; Till the hymns are sung, And the bells are rung, At the dawn of the pure faith's light.

IV.

Arise, my brothers, from Darvra's wave

On the wings of the southern wind;

We leave our father and friends to-day

In measureless grief behind.

Ah! sad the parting, and sad our flight

To Moyle's tempestuous main; For the day of woe Shall come and go, Before we meet again!

The four swans then spread their wings, and rose from the surface of the water in sight of all their friends, till they reached a great height in the air; then resting, and looking downwards for a moment, they flew straight to the north, till they alighted on the Sea of Moyle between Erin and Alban.