'But for
their longing for you, your father and friends would be happy indeed.'
Glad then and of great comfort were the hearts of Finola and her brothers.
But they could not hear more, for they must hasten to fly from the
pleasant shores of Erin to the sea-stream of Moyle, which was their doom.
And as they flew, Finola sang, and faint floated her voice over the
kneeling host.
As the sad song grew fainter and more faint, the Dedannans wept aloud.
Then, as the snow-white birds faded from sight, the sorrowful company
turned the heads of their white steeds from the shore, and rode southward
to the home of Lir.
And when it was told there of the sufferings of Finola and her brothers,
great was the sorrow of the Dedannans. Yet was Lir glad that his children
were alive, and he thought of the day when the magic spell would be
broken, and those so dear to him would be freed from their bitter woe.
* * * * *
Once more were ended three hundred years of doom, and glad were the four
white swans to leave the cruel sea of Moyle. Yet might they fly only to
the wild Western Sea, and tempest-tossed as before, here they in no way
escaped the pitiless fury of wind and wave. Worse than aught they had
before endured was a frost that drove the brothers to despair. Well-nigh
frozen to a rock, they one night cried aloud to Finola that they longed
for death.
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