6
Hearing that cry, ran Lir all trembling to the shore,
And bent in ruth to kiss the piteous feathery things
That from the water wailed, and on the weeping Swans
Full fast, in loving ruth, hot fell the tears of Lir!
7
And well each child he knew, sewn in its feathery shroud.
And stroked with passionate hand Oodh's o'er-snowed golden head,
And stroked Fianoula's neck, writhing to meet his touch,
And stroked his Fiachra's wings, and the downy crest of Conn.
8
Then burst in sobs his voice: ‘Oh, beggared in one day!
Whence are these swans for children? Whence falls this feathery blight:
This wrong unbearable, that vengeance cannot cure?
Oifa, is this thy deed?’ Fianoula answered low:
