But, alas! only the ruins
of Lir's dwelling were left. Around was a wilderness overgrown with rank
grass, nettles, and weeds.
Too downhearted to stir, the swans slept that night within the ruined
walls of their old home, but, when day broke, each could no longer bear
the loneliness, and again they flew westward. And it was not until they
came to Inis Glora that they alighted. On a small lake in the heart of the
island they made their home, and, by their enchanting music, they drew to
its shores all the birds of the west, until the lake came to be called
'The Lake of the Bird-flocks.'
Slowly passed the years, but a great longing filled the hearts of the
children of Lir. When would the good Saint come to Erin? When would the
chime of the Christ-bell peal over land and sea?
One rosy dawn the swans awoke among the rushes of the Lake of the
Bird-flocks, and strange and faint was the sound that floated to them from
afar. Trembling, they nestled close the one to the other, until the
brothers stretched their wings and fluttered hither and thither in great
fear. Yet trembling they flew back to their sister, who had remained
silent among the sedges. Crouching by her side they asked, 'What, dear
sister, can be the strange, faint sound that steals across our island?'
With quiet, deep joy Finola answered, 'Dear brothers, it is the chime of
the Christ-bell that ye hear, the Christ-bell of which we have dreamed
through thrice three hundred years.
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