"
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 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.
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