Vainly we soothe our aching hearts With converse sweet, Wave after wave, high heaving, parts Our union meet. Ah, doom severe! Harsh was our mother's vengeful will, Ah, brethren dear, Hard is our life, and sharp with ill. They remained for a year on the Sea of Moyle, when one night, as they were on the Rock of the Seals, the waters congealed around them with the cold; and as they lay on the rock, their feet and wings were frozen to it, so that they could not move a limb. When at length, after using what strength remained in their bodies, they succeeded in getting free, the skin of their feet, and the innermost down of their breasts, and the quills of their wings, remained clinging to the icy crag. "Woe to the children of Lir!" said Fingula, "mournful is our fate to-night, for when the salt water pierces into our wounds, we shall be pained to death"; and she sung these lines:-- Sad is our hap this mournful night, With mangled feet and plumage bleeding; Our wings no more sustain our flight, Woe comes to linked woe succeeding. Ah, cruel was our step-dame's mind, When hard to nature's sweet emotion, She sent us here 'mid wave and wind, To freeze on Moyle's relentless ocean. The wild sea-foam that strews the shore, The weeds those briny waves engender, For past delights are all our store, Though fostered once in regal splendor. Rise, sister of three brethren dear, Let custom dull the edge of anguish, In hollow rock or cavern drear, By doom unrighteous, bound to languish. Leaving the Rock of the Seals, they alighted again on the waters of Moyle, where the sharp brine pierced them keenly, although they strove to keep their feet under their wings as closely as they could. They continued to suffer thus, until their feathers grew, and the wounds of their feet were healed. They used frequently to go as near the shore as they could, on that part of the Irish coast which looks towards Scotland, and every night they came together to Moyle, which was their constant place of rest. One day as they drew nigh the shore of Bama, to the north, they saw a number of chariots and horsemen, splendidly arrayed, with horses richly caparisoned, approaching from the west. "Do you observe that brilliant company, you sons of Lir?" said Fingula. "We know not who they are," replied her brethren, "but they seem to be Irish; whether of the Sons of Mile, or the Tuatha Danaans, it is impossible for us to conjecture."