So, secretly, he sent a swift messenger across the hills and straths to the dun of Lir. Lir was at once wroth and filled with fear when he heard that Aeifa had reached the dun of Bove Derg without the children. Some treachery surely had been done, he cried. Then, calling together a company, he set forth with all speed. Towards sundown, the cavalcade came upon the wide desolate shores of the great lake of Darvra. “What is that sound?” cried Lir. “It is the wind in the reeds, O Lir,” answered a spearman by his side. “The wind in the reeds is a sweet sound to hear, Coran, but never have I heard any wind that could make so sweet a music.” “It is the little gentle lapping of the wavelets by the west wind, O Lir.” “It is no gentle lapping of the wavelets by the west wind, Coran, nor yet is it the wind in the reeds; but that is the voice of Fionula singing.” And as the sound grew clearer, all heard it, and soon the words were audible: “Behold the Danann host is on the shore, Seeking for those now lost for evermore; But let us haste towards that proud array And tell the tidings of this fatal day.” And while the song was still in the ears of all there, Lir gave a great cry and pointed to where above the midmost of the lake four wild swans were winging swiftly towards the eastern shore. When he heard from Fionula--and he knew her voice, which was sweeter than any other he had ever heard--of all that had happened, and of the strange and dreadful doom that was put upon her and her brothers, he fell sobbing to the ground. From all his company the keening of a bitter lamentation arose. Alas, as he knew well, not even the great length of years which the Dedannan folk lived--and a score of years is to them what one year is to us--would enable him to see his dear ones again. Three hundred years on Darvra, these he might mayhap live to see; but not the three hundred years on the bleak and wild region of the Moyle, nor the three hundred on the wild tempestuous western seas, nor the far-off day when a prophet called Taillken would come to Erin with a new faith, and in the glens and across the plains would be heard the strange chiming of Christ’s bell. Yet was he comforted when he heard that his children were to keep their Gaelic speech, and to be human in all things save only in their outward shape. And glad he was that they were to be able to chant music so wild and sweet that all who should hear it would be filled with joy and peace. For music is the most beautiful and wonderful thing in the world, and is the oldest, as it will be the latest speech. “Remain with us this night, here by the lake,” said Fionula, “and we shall sing to you our fairy music.”