Again their hardships were renewed, and to describe what they suffered on the great open Western Sea would be only to tell over again the story of their life on the Moyle. But one particular night came, of frost so hard that the whole face of the sea, from Irros Domnann to Achill, was frozen into a thick floor of ice; and the snow was driven by a north-west wind. On that night it seemed to the three brothers that they could not bear their sufferings any longer, and they began to utter loud and pitiful complaints. Finola tried to console them, but she was not able to do so, for they only lamented the more; and then she herself began to lament with the others. After a time, Finola spoke to them and said, "My dear brothers, believe in the great and splendid God of truth, who made the earth with its fruits, and the sea with its wonders; put your trust in Him, and He will send you help and comfort." "We believe in Him," said they. "And I also," said Finola, "believe in God, who is perfect in everything, and who knows all things." And at the destined hour they all believed, and the Lord of heaven sent them help and protection; so that neither cold nor tempest molested them from that time forth, as long as they abode on the Western Sea. So they continued at the point of Irros Domnann, till they had fulfilled their appointed time there. And Finola addressed the sons of Lir-- "My dear brothers, the end of our time here has come; we shall now go to visit our father and our people." And her brothers were glad when they heard this. Then they rose lightly from the face of the sea, and flew eastward with joyful hopes, till they reached Shee Finnaha. But when they alighted they found the place deserted and solitary, its halls all ruined and overgrown with rank grass and forests of nettles; no houses, no fire, no mark of human habitation. Then the four swans drew close together, and they uttered three loud mournful cries of sorrow. And Finola chanted this lay-- What meaneth this sad, this fearful change, That withers my heart with woe? The house of my father all joyless and lone, Its halls and its gardens with weeds overgrown,-- A dreadful and strange overthrow! No conquering heroes, no hounds for the chase, No shields in array on its walls, No bright silver goblets, no gay cavalcades, No youthful assemblies or high-born maids, To brighten its desolate halls! An omen of sadness--the home of our youth All ruined, deserted, and bare. Alas for the chieftain, the gentle and brave; His glories and sorrows are stilled in the grave, And we left to live in despair! From ocean to ocean, from age unto age, We have lived to the fulness of time; Through a life such as men never heard of we've passed, In suffering and sorrow our doom has been cast, By our stepmother's pitiless crime!