SONG OF FIANOULA.
1
Hot are thy tears, O Lir,
On the feathers of the Swans;
But cold shall rain the rains
Long ages upon thy children.
2
Thou gavest us, O Lir,
A cruel witch for our mother!
Poor father! for thee I weep
She has given thee Swans for children.
3
Three hundred years must we tread
Lake-water in Derryvarragh:
On the saltness of Sruth-na-Moyle
Must welter, three hundred years.
4
Three hundred years must we cleave
The billows of Erris Domnann:
Till the bell rings in Inis Glory
She cursed us—nine hundred years!
