"That is the form you shall take," said Bove Derg; and as he spoke he struck Eva with a druidical magic wand, and turned her into a demon of the air. She opened her wings, and flew with a scream upwards and away through the clouds; and she is still a demon of the air, and she shall be a demon of the air till the end of time.
After this, Lir and the Dedannans came to live on the shore of the lake, to be near the swans and to speak with them. And so the swans passed their time on the waters. During the day they discoursed lovingly with their father and their friends; and at night they chanted their slow, sweet, fairy music, the most delightful that was ever heard by men; so that all who listened to it, even those who were in grief, or sickness, or pain, forgot their sorrows and their sufferings, and fell into a gentle, sweet sleep from which they awoke bright and happy.
At last the three hundred years[30-1] came to an end, and Finola said to her brothers:--
"Do you know, my dear brothers, that we have come to the end of our time here; and that we have only this one night to spend on Lake Darvra?"
[30-1] Three hundred years: the Dedannans were regarded as gods and lived an immensely long time.
When the three sons of Lir heard this, they were in great distress and sorrow; for they were almost as happy on Lake Darvra, surrounded by their friends, and conversing with them day by day, as if they had been in their father's house in their own natural shapes; whereas they should now live on the gloomy and tempest-tossed Sea of Moyle, far away from all human society.
Early next morning, the swans came to the margin of the lake to speak to their father and their friends for the last time, and to bid them farewell; and Finola chanted this lay--
Farewell, farewell, our father dear! The last sad hour has come: Farewell, Bove Derg! farewell to all, Till the dreadful day of doom! We go from friends and scenes beloved, To a home of grief and pain; And that day of woe Shall come and go, Before we meet again!
We live for ages on stormy Moyle, In loneliness and fear; The kindly words of loving friends We never more shall hear. Four joyous children long ago; Four snow-white swans to-day; And on Moyle's wild sea Our robe shall be The cold and briny spray.