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Daisies with wide-open eyes looked up into the blue sky overhead. Golden glistened the buttercups among the shamrock. From the ditches peeped forget-me-not. Honeysuckle scented the hedgerows. Around, above, and afar, carolled the linnet, the lark, and the thrush. All was colour and sunshine, scent and song, as the children of Lir drove onward to their doom.
And there was great sorrow on the sons of Lir when they heard that, for they thought it the same as to be living people again, to be talking with their friends and their companions on Loch Dairbhreach, in comparison with going on the cold, fretful sea of the Maoil in the North.
But why did he make himself offensive to many people by speaking against Christianity? It was so illogical to love art as he did and to hate religion.... He had listened much more indulgently to Ulick than she had expected, and seemed to perceive the picturesqueness of the gods, Angus and 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.
And that weighed very heavy on Lir, and only for the way his mind was set on his four children he would have gone near to die of grief. The news came to Bodb Dearg's place, and all the people gave out three loud, high cries, keening their nursling.
For long years did Lir live in discontent, yielding obedience to none. But at length a great sorrow fell upon him, for his wife, who was dear unto him, died, and she had been ill but three days. Loudly did he lament her death, and heavy was his heart with sorrow. When tidings of Lir's grief reached Bove Derg, he was surrounded by his mightiest chiefs.
With bowed white heads did the Dedannan host listen to Finola's chant, and when the music ceased and only sobs broke the stillness, the four swans spread their wings, and, soaring high, paused but for one short moment to gaze on the kneeling forms of Lir and Bove Derg.
"Lir, that got victory with so many a good cast, his heart is a kernel of death in him now; the groaning of the great hero is a sickness to me, though it is I that have well earned his anger." And then the horses were caught for Aoife, and the chariot yoked for her, and she went on to the palace of Bodb Dearg, and there was a welcome before her from the chief people of the place.
Then did a wicked jealousy find root in Eva's heart, and so did it grow that it strangled the love which she had borne her sister's children. In bitterness she cried, 'Lir careth not for me; to Finola and her brothers hath he given all his love. And for weeks and months Eva lay in bed planning how she might do hurt to the children of Lir.
But the old woman seemed resolved that if he had never heard about the children of Lir he should hear about them now. "Lir was a powerful man in the old days of Ireland," she said, "He had three sons and one daughter, and their mother was dead. The names of the sons were Hugh, Fiachra, and Conn, and the name of the daughter was Fair-shoulder, and beautiful and good children were they all.
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