Three Irish Bardic Tales Being Metrical Versions of the Three Tales known as The Three Sorrows of Story-telling. By John Todhunter |
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 | Three Irish Bardic Tales |  |
9
Great was the lamentation and the love between them there;Loud was the Swans' lament, and loud the grief of Lir;
And with his children four he there lay down that night,
With the Swans he made his bed by the shores of Derryvarragh.
10
But when the dawn grew bright he hastened on his wayTo the house of the High-King. Oifa before Bōv Derg
Was called, and to her face Lir told his piteous tale.
Wearily still she smiled: ‘I have done it—let me die!’
11
Stern rose Bōv Derg in wrath: ‘I lay my druid spellOn thy confessing tongue, to answer what vile shape
Is most abhorred by thee?’ She writhed, compelled with pain,
Crying with a ghastly shriek: ‘A demon of the air!’
12
‘Take then that shape,’ he said, and smote her with his wand;And her blue eyes grew white as dazzling leprosy,
Her hideous body seemed the snake-fiend of her heart
Burst forth on dragon wings. And Bōv Derg spoke her doom:
| Three Irish Bardic Tales | |