[Illustration: They would swim far out into a dim grey wilderness of
waters]
One day, as they looked toward the Green Isle, they saw coming to the
coast a troop of horsemen mounted on snow-white steeds, and their armour
glittered in the sun.
A cry of great joy went up from the children of Lir, for they had seen no
human form since they spread their wings above Lake Darvra, and flew to
the stormy sea of Moyle.
'Speak,' said Finola to her brothers, 'speak, and say if these be not our
own Dedannan folk.' And Aed and Fiacra and Conn strained their eyes, and
Aed answered, 'It seemeth, dear sister, to me, that it is indeed our own
people.'
As the horsemen drew nearer and saw the four swans, each man shouted in
the Gaelic tongue, 'Behold the children of Lir!'
And when Finola and her brothers heard once more the sweet Gaelic speech,
and saw the faces of their own people, their happiness was greater than
can be told. For long they were silent, but at length Finola spake.
Of their life on the sea of Moyle she told, of the dreary rains and
blustering winds, of the giant waves and the roaring thunder, of the black
frost, and of their own poor battered and wounded bodies. Of their
loneliness of soul, of that she could not speak. 'But tell us,' she went
on, 'tell us of our father, Lir. Lives he still, and Bove Derg, and our
dear Dedannan friends?'
Scarce could the Dedannans speak for the sorrow they had for Finola and
her brothers, but they told how Lir and Bove Derg were alive and well, and
were even now celebrating the Feast of Age at the house of Lir.
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