And she chanted this lay—
Depart from me, ye graceful swans;
The waters are now your home:
Your palace shall be the pearly cave,
Your couch the crest of the crystal wave,
Depart from me, ye snow-white swans
With your music and Gaelic speech:
The crystal Darvra, the wintry Moyle,
The billowy margin of Glora's isle;—
Three hundred years on each!
Victorious Lir, your hapless sire,
His lov'd ones in vain shall call;
His weary heart is a husk of gore,
His home is joyless for evermore,
And his anger on me shall fall!
Through circling ages of gloom and fear
Your anguish no tongue can tell;
Till Faith shall shed her heavenly rays,
Till ye hear the Taillkenn's anthem of praise,
And the voice of the Christian bell!
Then ordering her steeds to be yoked to her chariot she departed westwards, leaving the four white swans swimming on the lake.
Our father shall watch and weep in vain;
He never shall see us return again.
Four pretty children, happy at home;
Four white swans on the feathery foam;
And we live on the waters for evermore,
By tempests driven from shore to shore.