THE CHILDREN OF LIR
Fionnuala, thy pitiful brothers—
Fiachra and Aodh and Conn—
Thou hast sought, thou hast found them, the others;
Thy wings shield their bodies from fear,
And together ye sing; sing on
Your song, O children of Lir.
Fiachra and Aodh and Conn—
Thou hast sought, thou hast found them, the others;
Thy wings shield their bodies from fear,
And together ye sing; sing on
Your song, O children of Lir.
There be many that walk on Time's marge,
And their lives are weary and long,
And heavy some hearts are and large,
But few are the hearts that make song.
Fionnuala, more white than thy brothers,
Fiachra and Conn,—when she sings—
Aodh, with eyes more aflame than the others,
Draw close that our faint hearts may hear
The beat of your turbulent wings,
The song of the children of Lir.
And their lives are weary and long,
And heavy some hearts are and large,
But few are the hearts that make song.
Fionnuala, more white than thy brothers,
Fiachra and Conn,—when she sings—
Aodh, with eyes more aflame than the others,
Draw close that our faint hearts may hear
The beat of your turbulent wings,
The song of the children of Lir.
White swans on the waste of the Maoil,
That gladden these desolate parts,
Sing and make cease the sharp toil
That the sorrowful find in their hearts.
In the stream of your tremulous singing
Let bathe the hurt of the world;
Enchanted the murmurous ringing
That deep is, and silver, and clear,
And soft as petals, dew-pearl'd,
The song of the children of Lir.
That gladden these desolate parts,
Sing and make cease the sharp toil
That the sorrowful find in their hearts.
In the stream of your tremulous singing
Let bathe the hurt of the world;
Enchanted the murmurous ringing
That deep is, and silver, and clear,
And soft as petals, dew-pearl'd,
The song of the children of Lir.
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