Time passed pleasantly with the Swan-Children, on the lake: in the day they conversed with their kindred and friends who had encamped around: at night they sang "slow, sweet, fairy music," that made sorrow sleep. This term closed: they bade farewell to all, and went forth to the Waters of Moyle, where they suffered from icy storms. Fionnuala, covering her young brothers with her wings, sang: "Life is weary here, Great the snowing here, Night is dreary here, Bleak the blowing here." On a day, they saw a Fairy Cavalcade at the river Banna, and were told that Lir and their friends were celebrating the Feast of Age, happy but for their absence. Fionnuala made this lay: Gay this night Lir's royal house, Chiefs carouse, mead flows amain; Cold this night his children roam, Their chill home the icy main. For our mantles fair are found Feathers curving round our breasts -- Often silken robes we had, Purple-clad we sat at feasts. For our viands here and wine -- Bitter brine and pallid sands: Oft the hazel mead they served In carved vessels to our hands. Now our beds are the bare rock Smit with shock of heavy seas; Often soft breast-down was spread For the bed of grateful ease. Though 'tis now, in frost, our toil To swim Moyle, with drooping wings; Oft we rode as Royal Wards And our guards were sons of Kings | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE by BEN JONSON FULFILLMENT by ROBERT MALISE BOWYER NICHOLS CHICAGO [OCTOBER 8-10, 1871] by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TO CHILDREN: 3. THE GOLDEN DAY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET TO ONE WHO HAD LEFT HER CONVENT TO MARRY by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |