OIFA'S ANSWER.
1
A boon, a boon I yield you,
Ye sorrowful Children of Lir!
Man's reason shall breed within you
Sweet words in the tongue of men.
2
Sweet, sweet be your voices,
Ye mournful Swans of Lir!
The sad, sweet moan of your music
Shall comfort the sick with sleep.
3
Sweet, sweet be your voices,
Ye sorrowful Swans of Lir!
Your song from the seas of Eri
Shall comfort the sorrows of men.
4
Sweet, sweet be your voices,
Ye magical Swans of Lir!
A nation's desolation
Shall witch the world in your song.
19
Then from the Swans went Oifa, and hasting from the shore
Fled from her triumph, pale, hate glutted; and the Swans,
Banished from hopes of men, and comfort of their kind
Swam in a knot forlorn into the clouds of doom.