Page 162 - Guerin Media | The Wild Atlantic Way
P. 162
She ordered her step-children out of her sight, but, for a moment, her heart softened as she turned to go, “Ah, but you will
have one saving grace- you will retain your beautiful human voices and sing the sweet music of the fairies. And your own
sense of nobility will remain with you. It will not weigh so heavily upon you to be in the shape of humble birds”.
On hearing of the fate of his only children, Lir rushed to the side of the Lake of Oaks. On seeing the four swans he asked
them what had happened. And so Fionnula told him of their fate: “from this time forth, we shall remain as swans – we
have not the power to live with any human being. But we have our own language, the Irish, and we have the power to sing
sweet music, and it is enough to satisfy any man to listen to that music. Stop here tonight. We will be making music for
you.”
Lir returned that night in company with all the noble dwellers of the Palace and all were indeed delighted with the music
that they heard. Soonafter, Lir set off for Bov Deareg’s castle and told him what Aoife had done. The High King was
furious with Aoife. Striking him with a druid wand he turned her into a Cailleach na Gaoithe, a Witch of the Air and she
went from the earth in that formless shape of the wind. She is in it yet!
Meanwhile, each day at the lake where the Swan Children were singing, thousands of nobles gathered to listen to their
wonderful music. Never before had there been such a delight in Ireland as the sweet music of the Swan Children. Every
day was spent telling stories, each night they sand the music of the fairies. Anyone who heard that music would sleep
soundly and whatever troubles or long sickness he may have had would be lifted by that music of the birds.
Once three hundred years had passed for the Swan Children on that Lake of the Oaks, Fionnula told her brothers “Now
it is time for us to leave our home on this Lake of Oaks and go to the Isle of Maoile, far across the sea”. Alas her brothers
were sad at this news. Their time at the Lake had been happily spent in its own way talking and singing with their many
visitors from the Gaels and the Tuatha de Danann.
On the Isle of Maoile, their feathers would often freeze in the ice and their wings heavy from the cold sea spray. There was
a furious storm once there when one of the children of Lir almost was lost to the others. What could they do? Neither
swan nor human, who had they for companionship? They were swept away in the powerful waves, tossed in the foam and
whipped far from one another. Fionnula ,who was wisest of the four children, called out that they would meet again on
the Island of Seals.
Fionnula then waited three days on that Island of seas for her brothers. She grew sad as she feared she would perhaps
never again see them. But to her joy, there was Conn returnign to her, the youngest of her brothers, against the setting
sun coming towards her. His head hung low, his feathers wet through, a miserable sight. Soon after him Fiachra arrived,
likewise wet and perished with the cold. Spreading her wide white wings, Fionnula welcomed her brothers and held them
close to her to dry them . There they lay on the Seal island. Three swan children awaiting their third brothers. He came at
last, his feathers a dazzling white as he flew to them against the bright sunshine. They rejoiced to be together at last those
swan children. It is a pity indeed that not a soul was there to here their beautiful music, except the seals, on that cruel
island. With the roar of the sea and the crashing waves off the island of Maoile it was little chance they had to tell stories
to one another. Their final three hundred years was spent on Inis Gluaire.
160
have one saving grace- you will retain your beautiful human voices and sing the sweet music of the fairies. And your own
sense of nobility will remain with you. It will not weigh so heavily upon you to be in the shape of humble birds”.
On hearing of the fate of his only children, Lir rushed to the side of the Lake of Oaks. On seeing the four swans he asked
them what had happened. And so Fionnula told him of their fate: “from this time forth, we shall remain as swans – we
have not the power to live with any human being. But we have our own language, the Irish, and we have the power to sing
sweet music, and it is enough to satisfy any man to listen to that music. Stop here tonight. We will be making music for
you.”
Lir returned that night in company with all the noble dwellers of the Palace and all were indeed delighted with the music
that they heard. Soonafter, Lir set off for Bov Deareg’s castle and told him what Aoife had done. The High King was
furious with Aoife. Striking him with a druid wand he turned her into a Cailleach na Gaoithe, a Witch of the Air and she
went from the earth in that formless shape of the wind. She is in it yet!
Meanwhile, each day at the lake where the Swan Children were singing, thousands of nobles gathered to listen to their
wonderful music. Never before had there been such a delight in Ireland as the sweet music of the Swan Children. Every
day was spent telling stories, each night they sand the music of the fairies. Anyone who heard that music would sleep
soundly and whatever troubles or long sickness he may have had would be lifted by that music of the birds.
Once three hundred years had passed for the Swan Children on that Lake of the Oaks, Fionnula told her brothers “Now
it is time for us to leave our home on this Lake of Oaks and go to the Isle of Maoile, far across the sea”. Alas her brothers
were sad at this news. Their time at the Lake had been happily spent in its own way talking and singing with their many
visitors from the Gaels and the Tuatha de Danann.
On the Isle of Maoile, their feathers would often freeze in the ice and their wings heavy from the cold sea spray. There was
a furious storm once there when one of the children of Lir almost was lost to the others. What could they do? Neither
swan nor human, who had they for companionship? They were swept away in the powerful waves, tossed in the foam and
whipped far from one another. Fionnula ,who was wisest of the four children, called out that they would meet again on
the Island of Seals.
Fionnula then waited three days on that Island of seas for her brothers. She grew sad as she feared she would perhaps
never again see them. But to her joy, there was Conn returnign to her, the youngest of her brothers, against the setting
sun coming towards her. His head hung low, his feathers wet through, a miserable sight. Soon after him Fiachra arrived,
likewise wet and perished with the cold. Spreading her wide white wings, Fionnula welcomed her brothers and held them
close to her to dry them . There they lay on the Seal island. Three swan children awaiting their third brothers. He came at
last, his feathers a dazzling white as he flew to them against the bright sunshine. They rejoiced to be together at last those
swan children. It is a pity indeed that not a soul was there to here their beautiful music, except the seals, on that cruel
island. With the roar of the sea and the crashing waves off the island of Maoile it was little chance they had to tell stories
to one another. Their final three hundred years was spent on Inis Gluaire.
160
