Again he spoke to her more fiercely than before; and he asked her what shape of all others, on the earth, or above the earth, or beneath the earth, she most abhorred, and into which she most dreaded to be transformed. And she, being forced to answer truly, said, "A demon of the air."[XVIII.] "That is the form you shall take," said Bove Derg; and as he spoke he struck her 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. Then Bove Derg and the Dedannans assembled on the shore of the lake, and encamped there; for they wished to remain with the birds, and to listen to their music. The Milesian people[XIX.] came and formed an encampment there in like manner; for historians say that no music that was ever heard in Erin could be compared with the singing of these swans. And so the swans passed their time. During the day they conversed with the men of Erin, both Dedannans and Milesians, and discoursed lovingly with their friends and fellow nurselings; 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. So they continued, the Dedannans and the Milesians, in their encampments, and the swans on the lake, for three hundred years.[XX.] And at the end of that time, 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?" 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 tempestuous Sea of Moyle, far away from all human society. Early next morning, they 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-- I. Farewell, farewell, our father dear! The last sad hour has come: Farewell, Bove Derg! farewell to all, Till the dreadful day of doom![XXI.] 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! II.