The Children of Lir

The following story was written for the Ice Dragon 2007 Pentathalon.

The Fate of the Children of Lir and Aobh

When the Tuatha de Danaan [1] found themselves without a King after the battle of Tailltin, they chose from among their finest warriors and gave the golden circlet to Bobd Dearg . That circlet was jealously desired by Lir who in disgust left without leave; without swearing neither featly nor speaking a word to anyone. Many of the Tuatha took this as an insult and demanded that Lir be brought before the King and punished. Bodb Dearg [2], who knew Lir from of old, decreed that no insult was given and that Lir, in return for his long years of service, would be left alone as long as he did not attempt to depose the rightful King. "I am King wither he kneels before me or nay," Bodb Dearg said.

Years passed; Lir remained at his house at Sidhe Fionnachaidh [3] and saw no one from outside of his home. Then, one night, after many days of sickness, his wife died of a fever. For while the Children of Danu live long lives grow old not, they too can be felled by sickness. Lir felt the darkness close in on the empty space of his life: He neither spoke nor ate, nor did he weep, but it was plain for all who saw him that the suffering was devouring him.

Tales of Lir’s lost spread throughout Erin [4], and soon those tales were told in the house of the King and Bodb Dearg gathered the best of the Men of Dea to him and said, "Lir has suffered much. Go to him and ask him, if he wishes it, that if he would join us, a place for him here will be set and one of mine own three foster children shall be his as wife." The Men of Dea saw that this was good; Bodb Dearg’s foster children were the three daughters of Oilell of Aran, the fairest of all Erin.

A messenger was sent to Lir house and into that dark house did the messenger speak, "Lir, from the King I have come, bearing a message not from the King, but from your friend Dodb Dearg who has heard of your loss. As your friend, Dodb Dearg bid me to ask you if you would rejoin the Men of Dea at Loch Dearg [5]. None hold you in contempt and all weep for your loss. Dodb Dearg also bid me to tell you that one of his foster children is yours for a bride if you wish it. Too long have you been alone and in the dark. There is light and company at Loch Dearg."

Lir said nothing save that he would decide on the morrow. All that night did Lir think of this offer. If it be a trick to catch him, then his suffering would be at an end. And if it was a true offer, then perhaps his suffering might be eased. When the messenger awoke, he found the Lir’s chariot was waiting next to his. The journey did not take long and when Lir rode into Loch Dearg it was not a cheering crowd that greeted him, nor was it a jeering crowd, but it was a crowd of old friends welcoming a lost one home. So moved by this, that when Bodb Dearg stepped out of the crowd and in front of him, Lir dropped to his knees and begged Dodb Dearg for forgiveness.

Dodb Dearg gently raised Lir to his feet and told him, "No harm nor insult was intended or received. And any thought or talk of punishment shall be banished. You have punished yourself with your exile and have been punished even further by the loss of your wife. A place for you has been prepared at my table by my side, where you have been sorely missed. Let us eat first then we will talk of the future." With that, Dodb Dearg and Lir walked into Loch Dearg, arm in arm.

Later that evening, the Queen of the Tuatha de Danaan ushered in her foster children, Aobh, Aoife, and Ailbhe, the daughters of Oilell of Aran and said, "You may have your choice of these three girls, Lir. All are beautiful and each will make a fine wife." But Lir could not decide, and said, "All three are equal in my eyes. Which of the three is the eldest? It is she who would make the best wife." Bodb Dearg replied, "The eldest is Aobh [6], and she shall be your wife." And Lir took Aobh to be his wife and for a fortnight, Loch Dearg was a place of celebration. The wedding-feast was the subject of talk for years and the mead flowed like water.

Lir brought Aobh to his house and as the seasons changed, so did Aobh. And soon she brought forth a daughter, so white was her skin and so fair was her hair that they named her Fionnuala [7]. The seasons changed again and when Fionnuala was a child, Lir and Aobh let her hold her brother, Aodb [8]. Soon Aobh was with child again, and brought forth twins, named Fiachra and Conn. But their birth was troubled and while the midwife managed to save the children, Aobh died. Once again Lir felt the darkness of grief close about him for he loved Aobh with all his heart, and if it was not for the children, Lir would have withdrew from his friends once again.

When news of Aobh’s death came to Loch Dearg, there was much keening for she was much loved. Bobd Dearg said to his wife, "Though I am filled with grief with the loss of my foster daughter, Lir greaves even more. For he did love Aobh as much as a husband as I loved her as a father and I would not have my friend stand alone with his grief. Let us give him for a wife Aoife, [9]" for Aoife was the sister of Aobh, younger by just 7 seasons.

Messengers were dispatched to Sidhe Fionnachaidh and Lir came to Loch Dearg and on his chariot with him rode his four children. And the people of Loch Dearg new that Aobh lived on in the beauty of her children. And thus was Lir and Aoife married. So beautiful and delightful were the children of Lir and Aobh that the Men of Dea often visited Lir just to see them. Bodb Dearg often traveled to see them and always welcomed them in his hall. Indeed, the children were often sent to visit their grandfather. The children were beloved of all and Lir’s heart was filled with love for them.

But Lir had no love for Aoife. Polite and kind he was, but she was too much alike to Aobh and she reminded him of his loss daily. A spark of jealousy began to grow in Aoife, and she thought that the love that Lir gave to his children was rightfully hers and that if the children were not there to take what was hers, Aoife would become beloved by all. Jealousy is a sickness that the Tuatha de Danaan were no more immune to than we are. That sickness spread through Aoife and she plotted an evil plan.

Early one morning, Aoife took the four children, telling them that they would go to visit Bodb Dearg. They went not knowing of their fate for Aoife hid the signs of her evil sickness from all. As the young often did, they slept on the floor of the chariot thinking that they were safe. But Aoife did not go to Loch Dearg, she drove to Loch Dirbhreach [10], and stopped there. Taking the sleeping children to the shore, she held them under the water and tried to drown them, but even though only Fionnuala was old enough and big enough to fight her, Aoife could not bring herself to drown her step children.

"Sister of my Mother," Fionnuala cried, "We are of your blood and you can no more kill us then you can kill yourself. For if you slay us then a curse shall be on you."

"Brat of a dead whore, if I am to be weak and cannot kill you, then you shall live but not on Erin. You think you can curse me? You haven’t the power. List you four, you shall live though you shall wish for a death which shall not come. First for taking my Father and Mother away from me, you shall dwell on Loch Dirbhreach for three hundred years, always near your family but never with them. Secondly, for stealing the love of my husband, you shall spend three hundred years on the Sruth na Maoile [11] and you shall feel each of the salty tears that I shed alone. Thirdly, for stealing the happiness from me and making me an outcast in my own home, you shall spend three hundred years at Irros Domnann by the shores of the great ocean! [12] Three times I curse you and thrice three hundred years you shall be swans and live ever on the water!"

Fionnuala cried for mercy and Aoife said, "You cry for mercy after what you have taken from me! This is the mercy that I give, you shall remain as swans until a woman of the South is wed with a man of the North." Aoife watched as the children changed, painfully, into swans, and then rode away to Loch Dearg.

Dodb Dearg himself was waiting when Aoife’s chariot rode up, but the joy that was upon his face fell when he learned that the children did not come. In Aoife’s mind, she thought that Dodb Dearg, her own foster father, only cared for her step children. His show of disappointment was changed in her mind to one of disgust and hatred of her and when she was asked where the children of Lir were, jealousy once again drove her to evil ends. "I shall not lie to you, I wished to bring the children with me but Lir has no liking of you and does not trust his children around you. He thinks that you will take his children from him and never return them." More then did she tell, of old hatreds and vows and it was a bitter brew of deceit and hate that she offered.

Bodb Dearg was not so easily deceived and while he let Aoife believe that her guile had taken him in, he sent his swiftest messenger to the Hill of the White Field. Lir himself met the messenger before he had had a chance to dismount, for such speed was only used for the most important tidings.

"What news from Loch Dearg?" asked Lir, with some dread.

"Lir, where art your children?" the messenger asked.

"To the King, their Grandfather." he replied. "Four days ago did they go with Aoife. What does your question mean? Did they not arrive?"

The messenger, now confused, answered, "Your children are not with the King. Indeed, Aoife did say that you would not let them visit."

"Say on, messenger. There is much you tell me that you do not say. What does my wife say?"
With that, the messenger recounted to Lir the web of lies that Aoife spun. Lir mind spun at the thought that Aoife could have done harm to her own kin. If they were dead or if alive yet hidden from him, he would never know unless Aoife was caught in her web of lies. "Hie you unto the King. Tell him that we must act together if we wish to ever see them again. Tell him these words: Say nothing to Aoife, nor contradict her. When she leaves to return here, follow her, but out of her ken. Watch where she goes before she comes here. When she does return, I’ll give her a chance to explain where the children are, then reveal yourself. In front of the two of us she will have to reveal the truth. Now go, and make speed like you’ve never done so before."

The next few days were a torture for Lir; waiting without news, fearing the worse. Then a servant arrived to tell him that Aoife’s chariot was approaching. Lir composed himself, and forced himself to relax so that Aoife would not suspect anything.

When Aoife pulled up and dismounted, she handed the reigns to a servant and went to wash the dust of the road off herself. While she was bathing, Bodb Dearg and his most trusted men arrived. Quietly they dismounted and entered, meeting with Lir in the Long Hall. Lir made them secret themselves in the shadows around his sleeping chamber. When Aoife was ready, she found Lir, seemingly alone, waiting on the bed.

"Oh, my love!" Aoife cried, "My Father, the King, has taken our children from us! He refused to let me return home with them. He has no likeing for you and said that he will bring up the children himself, away from your influence."

While Aoife spun her web of lies and jealousy, Dodb Dearg and his men revealed themselves. When Aoife saw them, she stopped and in a voice shaking with fear, asked Lir, "What is the meaning of this, my husband. What have you done?"

"I will ask but one question, and what will happen to you will depend on your answer. Where are my children?"

Aoife knew from the look in Lir’s eyes and from the presence of her Foster Father that her lies were all in vain. "Do not worry about them," she cooed and made as if to cuddle with Lir. "They won’t ever come between us again."

Lir would not let her touch him and threw Aoife on to the floor. "I will ask you again, if you value your life, where are my children?"

"Gone. Gone where you’ll never find them!" screamed Aoife in defiance. Her false tears replaced by hatred and scorn. "Kill me and you’ll never see your precious children again. Only I know where they...."

A Druid, who came in the company of the King, stepped forward and raised his hand, silencing Aoife in mid sentence.

Bodb Dearg said, "She did not come directly here. She first stopped at Loch Dirbhreach. Did you drown my Grandchildren? Did you?"

Not but silence was the answer Aoife gave and not would she say until the Druid commanded her, "You must answer with the truth." With that command, Aoife answered "No," the word seemingly dragged out of her even though she did not wish to speak.

"Where are my children? What did you do to them? Answer me!" But Aoife said nothing and the strain of fighting against the Druid’s will showed on her face. "Never mind. If she stopped at Loch Dirbhreach then that is where my children are. I’ll bring my hunting dogs there; if they can follow the track of field mouse a month after it passed then they can surely find four children they grew up with."

They mounted their chariots and, with Lir’s hounds and the captive Aoife, they rode to Loch Dirbhreach. Once there, the hounds were let loose. They ran silently until one of them came to the lake shore and started barking. When Lir reached that spot, there was nothing there for him to see. Bodb Dearg joined him there with Aoife. "Here is where you brought them, now where are they, Aoife? If you did not kill them then where are they?"

But Aoife said nothing. Not even the will of the Druid could make her break the twin walls of jealousy and hatred that she had reared about her mind. And while Dodb Dearg, the Druid and Lir tried to make Aoife speak, four swans swam close to the shore, unafraid of the hounds. One of them spoke, "Oh, Father. Do not look further for us, for we are lost to you."

Lir cried out in anguish when he perceived what the swans truly were and he dropped to his knees and wept. Dodb Dearg demanded that Aoife change them back, but she refused. "Nothing you can do can make me change them back! And no spell of yours will either. What one has done with magic another cannot undo. For three times three hundred years I have banished them from the earth, for all they have taken from me."

The Druid raised the twisted branch he carried as a staff and said, "Aoife, you have unjustly doomed four innocent children to long years of torture. Hear my sentence: For until they be reunited with their father in their proper forms shall you be banished from the earth as well. While they stay separated from their Father shall you be a spirt of the air and the wind shall blow you where it will."

Lir stepped up and waved for the Druid to wait. "Aoife, please. Do not let this happen, for the love of the children."

"The children!" Aoife spat. "You had a choice between me and the children and you’ve always chose them over me! Now you won’t have any of us. Do your worse!"

"Then let Justice be done, and may the Goddess forgive you for what you have done." With that, the Druid touched the end of his staff to Aoife’s head and spoke a Word of Change. Aoife opened her mouth to scream, but the only noise heard was that of the wind blowing through the space where Aoife stood.

When Bobd Dearg sought to take Lir away from that cursed place, he refused, "My children may have been taken from me, but I shall not abandon when they are so close." And with that, he waked into the shallows to be with the swans which were his children. Dodb Dearg sent a rider back to Loch Dearg to gather his war camp, for he would not let Lir stay here without shelter.

The Tuatha de Danaan heard the news as the rider was not told to hold his tongue and many of the men of Dea returned with their own war camps for Lir and his kin were much loved and many wished to add their company to stay the grief of Lir.

Among those of the Men of Dea came Druids and Bards and learned men and while the children were separated from their kin and friends, they were not alone. They were given their lessons as would normal children and the Bards taught them to use the voices of the swan to sing the songs of Dea, more sweet and more beautiful than any of the Tuatha and that beauty was tinged with a sorrow that brought tears to all who heard them.

Lir all but moved Sidhe Fionnachaidh to the shores of the lake and made his home there with his children and many were the traffic to and from that lake and many visited them just to hear the songs of the swans. Soon all of Erin knew of the singing swans of Loch Dirbhreach.

For three hundred years did they meet by the shores of the lake, for the People of Dea aged not while they lived on Erin. One day Fionnuala told Lir that tonight would be the last night they would spend together. Her brothers wailed, for though they had lived three hundred years, they were children still and they did not want to be separated from their father. Lir wept openly for losing his children to swans was a curse enough; now he would lose them altogether.

When Lir said that he would go with them, Fionnuala stayed him, "This curse is upon us and you cannot take anymore part of it from us. You have duties here and cannot go with us. One third of our suffering is over and we will soon be with you again." No songs were sung that night and no laughter was heard for the four were doomed to Sruth na Maoile on the morn.
When the sun rose, the Loch was empty for Fionnuala and her brothers had taken wing before Lir awoke. Messengers were sent to the four corners and to all of the surrounding kingdoms that for the sake of pity, no swan would be hunted.

When the children arrived at Sruth na Maoile, the cold and harshness of the place filled their hearts with sorrow, for whatever hardness it was to be so close to their loved ones on Loch Dirbhreach this dwelling place would be truly a torture. Little did they know that on this day the strait was as calm and as gentle as it could be; true to Aoife’s curse, they would wish for death to end the suffering brought upon be the storms and the cold.

They found no shelter upon the straits save for one place, Carraig na Ron [13] . Upon that rock, there was a depression in the rock wall large enough for the four and during the many storms Aobd, Fiachra and Conn huddled against the rock wall while Fionnuala shielded her brothers with her body and her wings around them and their cries were drowned out by the noise of the winds and the waves.

On calm days Fionnuala sang to her brothers to ease their grieving and for a short time each year, the seals came to the rock that was named for them and with them, drawn by Fionnuala’s singing, came the Selkie. While the Selkie grieved for the children, they could do not for them but offer them fish and seaweed and return song for song, for the song of the Selkie is as haunting as the song of the swan. But little company they were, for the Selkie speak their language after that of the seals.

But for these short intervals, the children were alone upon those harsh rocks and the suffering they knew cannot be told, for no mortal has ever suffered as much, for no matter of the bite of the cold, or of the harshness of the wind or the burning of the salt spray or the freezing of the ice, death was denied to them though they all did wish for death to end the pain and the loneliness.

One year the Selkie and the seals returned to Carraig na Ron only to find it empty, and the cries of the Selkie was great, for they mourned the loss of the swans who they would not see again.

The children had left that year, for the second third of their torment had passed, and from Maoile they fled and flew to the point of Irros Domnann [14] and there they learned that their suffering was not yet at an end, for unlike Sruth na Maoile, there was no shelter at Irros Domnann and upon the sea itself would they dwell. For the next three hundred years did they endure. Through the storms of the summer and through the winters that froze the waters about them did they endure and there was none to hear their sorrow.

Then, their sentence was over and the four swans took wing during a storm, not waiting even an hour, to return home. Towards Sidhe Fionnachaidh did they fly but naught did they find save the green hills. No house did they see nor smoke nor cattle nor horses. Nor did they see anything at Loch Dearg and they cried out for any of the Tuatha but none answered them for the Men of Dea were vanquished by mortal men and they were forced to flee underhill, away from cold, mortal iron.

The children stayed in the land of their grandfather for several days recovering from their long ordeal and always calling out for anyone to answer. Then they took wing and flew towards Inis Gluaire towards Loch na-n Ean [15] for none of the four could think of anywhere else to go.

There they did live upon that gentle lake, and the songs of the birds were joined by the songs of the Sidhe. Soon Loch na-n Ean became a place of mystery for travelers swore they heard the most beautiful and most sorrowful music there but could never find it’s source. As the years past, more and more people visited the lake and soon it was discovered that the music came from four pure white swans. Many recalled a legend that swans were not to be hunted in Ireland, perhaps this was the reason. The children, however, kept to themselves; they knew not these people nor their language.

Unknown to the children, Lairgren, the King of Connacht, desired Deoch, the daughter of Finghin, as his wife. Lairgren promised Deoch anything she wished if she would consent to marry him. Deoch only desired one thing, the singing swans of Loch na-n Ean. Lairgren swore an oath that the swans would sing at their wedding.

Lairgren sent trusted men to Loch na-n Ean to capture the swans and bring them to Inis Gluaire in time for the wedding. No tale is told how those men managed to complete their task. Perhaps the children were sleeping and caught off guard; Perhaps their loneliness was too great and they desired human company. However the method, the children were caught and brought to Inis Gluaire.

On the day of the wedding, the four children were brought before the bride to be; leashed by silver chains and keening for their imprisonment. And over their keening was Lairgren and Deoch wedded and to honor his oath, Lairgren gave the silver chains to Deoch and thus a man of the North was wedded to a woman of the South. When Deoch accepted the chains the final curse of Aoife was broken and to her horror, Deoch held not four swans, but an old woman and three old men. The children of Dea aged not while they lived on Erin, but the children of Lir spent over nine hundred years on the water and while Aoife’s curse barred them from death, they aged still.

Fionnuala spoke with her last breath, though she knew not if anyone understood her, and she begged those that looked in horror upon her, "Blessed death is soon upon us. Burry us at Sidhe Fionnachaidh, lay Conn on my left side and Fiachra on my right and place Aodb in my arms. So we have suffered together, let us rest forever together. And if any of you should met with our father Lir, tell him that we loved him unto our end." And with that, the light of life left her and the children of Lir were no more.

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This story is my version of Oidheadh Chloinne Lir [16] from Tri Truaighe Scéalaigheachta. [17] The Encyclopedia Britannica states that the oldest written version of this story is recorded in The Book of Leinster and dates back to the 12th Century [18] , although Professor James Carney believes to have been composed perhaps as late as the year 1500 [19] , was popular with eighteenth-century scribes, who, "grouping it with the fourtenth-century Oidheadh Chloinne Tuirend [20] and Oidheadh Chloinne Uisnig [21] , refer to the whole group as Trí truaighe na sgéalaigheachta (The Three Sorrows of Storytelling)."

The difficulty in documenting this story was in finding a complete copy of the original, which I was not able to do. I have discovered many copies of re-tellings of this story written in the 19th and 20th centuries, but I was only able to gather fragments of anything earlier. Every on-line site that posted to have medieval copies of the manuscripts were either pay sites or were only available to select colleges and universities. Using the fragments at my disposal, as well as contemporary stories, I was able to fine tune my rendition. The ending, in particular, was not available to my research. Most modern translations I found have been written to support the conversion of pagan traditions to christian ones, a trend that I was not able to confirm from the original. Four example of this is as follows:

It is then Fionnuala said to Mochaomhog: "Come and baptise us now, for it is short till our death comes; and it is certain you do not think worse of parting with us than we do of parting with you. And make our grave afterwards," she said, "and lay Conn at my right side and Fiachra on my left side, and Aodh before my face, between my two arms. And pray to the God of Heaven," she said, "that you may be able to baptise us. [22]

Come and baptise us, O Cleric,
Clear away our stains
This day I see our grave--
Fiachra and Conn on each side,
And in my lap, between my two arms,
Place Aod, my beauteous brother."
After this lay, the children of Lir were baptised. And they died, and were buried as Fionnuala had said, Fiachra and Conn on either side, and Aod before her face. A cairn was raised for them, and on it their names were written in runes. And that is the fate of the children of Lir. [23]

Lairgnen flies from the palce in horror, but the hermit prepares to administer baptism at once, as death is reapidly approaching them. "Lay us in one grave," says Fionuala........[24]

As they approached the land, St. Patrick stretched his hand and said, "Children of Lir, you may tread your native land again." And the sweet swan-sister, Finola, said, "If we tread our native land, it can only be to die, after our life of nine centuries. Baptize us while we are yet living." When they touched the shore, the weight of all those centuries fell upon them; they resumed their human bodies, but they appeared old and pale and wrinkled. Then St. Patrick baptized them, and they died; but, even as he did so, a change swiftly came over them; and they lay side by side, once more children, in their white night-clothes, as when their father Lir, long centuries ago, had kissed them at evening and seen their blue eyes close in sleep and had touched with gentle hand their white foreheads and their golden hair. Their time of sorrow was ended and their last swan-song was sung; but the cruel stepmother seems yet to survive in her bat-like shape, and a single glance at her weird and malicious little face will lead us to doubt whether she has yet fully atoned for her sin. [25]

The older translations of Lamentable Fate of the Sons of Usnach and the Fate of the Children of Tuireann do not end in a similar fashion. It is a well known fact that the majority of these mostly oral stories were changed to reflect the transition of Ireland from a "pagan" to a christian county. [26]

...suppose that the Milesian mith originated at a much later time than the other, and was, in its main features, the product of christian influences The People of Dana were in possiession of the country, but theu were pagan divinities - they could not stand for the progenitors of a christian Ireland. They had somehow of other to be got rid of, and a race of less embarrassing antecedents substituted for them. So the Milesians were fetched from "Spain" and endowed with the main charactistics, only more humanised, of the People of Dana. But the latter, in contradistinction to the usual attitude of early christianity, are treated very tenderly in the story of their overthrow. [27]

But if, as is likely, the transition from druidism to Christianity was gradual, possibly through the medium of Culdeeism, the intrusion of pagan ideas in the early religious literature can be more readily comprehended. As so much of old paganism was mixed up in the Patristic works of Oriental Christendom, it cannot surprise one that a similar exhibition of the ancient heathenism should be observed in the West. O’Brian, in Round Towers, writes, "The Church Festivals themselves in our christian calendar are but the direct transfers from the Tuath de Danaan Ritual." [28]

Celtic Christianity is an union of Druidism and Christianity nominally founded by Columba and Columcille, among other early saints, and centered on the Scottish island of Iona, in the southern Hebrides. Saint Columba is said to have first spoken the famous prayer "Mo Drui, Mac De" (My Druid, Son of God), as if identifying rather than contrasting the old and the new religions. Early Christian sanctuaries were built in circular shapes, unlike the rectangular or cruciform shapes of Roman Christian sanctuaries, which is in keeping with the earlier Druidic concepts. Many Druids may have converted to Christianity when it became popular with the nobility, and though they followed the new religion they kept most of the old wisdom. Other Druids became Bards, and the Bardic tradition kept many of the old mythologies alive in the culture. There are stories of Celtic saints speaking with animals and plants, as the old Druids used to do, something usually attributed only to St. Francis of Assisi. The Carmina Gadelica, a book of Celtic-Christian prayers collected by Alexander Carmichael in the outer Hebrides, shows a very strong connection to the natural world. [29]

My sources disagree with the exact reasoning behind this trend. Personally, I think that it falls down to two main reasons: One, by converting the old stories, or adding christian elements, bards were able to keep telling the stories without fear of persecution. Two; the early Church made the changes in order to spread the gospel more easily. Instead of arguing over who worshiped a greater god, the stories would be used to show that the heroes of old accepted the new god willingly, as Lady Gregory illustrated in the last paragraphs of her rendition of the same story that I present to you. I did find many examples of this last point in my research for this documentation. Reverend Power wrote of the following exchange in his book about the 6th century Irish saint Mochuda:

On a certain day in the (early) springtime there came to tempt him a druid who said to him: - "In the name of your God cause this apple-tree branch to produce foliage." Mochuda knew that it was in contempt for divine power the druid proposed this, and the branch put forth leaves on the instant. The druid demanded "In the name of your God, put blossom on it." Mochuda made the sign of the cross [over the twig] and it blossomed presently. The druid persisted: - "What profits blossom without fruit?" [said the druid]. Mochuda, for the third time, blessed the branch and it produced a quantity of fruit. The druid said: - "Follower of Christ, cause the fruit to ripen." Mochuda blessed the tree and the fruit, fully ripe, fell to the earth. The druid picked up an apple off the ground and examining it he saw it was quite sour, whereupon he objected: - "Such miracles as these are worthless since it leaves the fruit uneatable." Mochuda blessed the apples and they all became sweet as honey, and in punishment of his opposition the magician was deprived for a year of his eyesight. At the end of a year he came to Mochuda and did penance, whereupon he received his sight back again and he returned home rejoicing. [30]

The interesting thing is, Pliny the Elder [31] recounts a very similar tale between a Druid and a foreigner to Gaul, possible a Roman. [32] However, the purpose of this documentation is not to explain the evolution of Irish religion, but to explain my story. I shall devote the remainder of this documentation to that end.

Lir

I was surprised to discover that while Lir’s children are somewhat well known in literature, the figure of Lir plays little part other than a father figure. Most sources mention Lir as the "Celtic god of the sea," but then go on to list various stories and legends of his son, Manannán the god of the sea. Rolleston wrote, "he is a separate person dwelling invisibly on Slieve Faud, in Co. Armage. We hear little of him in Irish legend, where the attributes of the sea-god are mostly conferred on his son." [33] The rest of the section about Lir describes Manannán’s cloak, sword and steed. The only other tale I could find about Lir was about the death of his other children, which you just read.

Magic

The use of magic was strongly featured in the old Celtic stories, and while there are many stories of "ordinary" people using magic, it was predominately in the hands of the Druids. [34] There appears to be no rhyme nor reason to who uses magic for good or for ill. In this story, a jealous woman curses her step children and is punished for it by a druid. In the tales of the hero Cúchulainn, Druids are partly responsible for his downfall. I believe that the ancient bards used magic as both a plot device and a deus ex machina in their stories: as the tales were re-told, the heroes and villeins became more and more mighty and needed "special help" to assist or defeat them.

But similar magical rites were also attributed to the gods, and it is probably for this reason that the Tuatha Dé Danann and many of the divinities who appear in the Mabinogion are described as magicians. Kings are also spoken of as wizards, perhaps a reminiscence of the powers of the priest king. But since many of the primitive cults had been in the hands of women, and as these cults implied a large use of magic, they may have been the earliest wielders of magic, though, with increasing civilization, men took their place as magicians. Still side by side with the magic-wielding Druids, there were classes of women who also dealt in magic, as we have seen. Their powers were feared, even by S. Patrick, who classes the "spells of women" along with those of Druids, and, in a mythic tale, by the father of Connla, who, when the youth was fascinated by a goddess, feared that he would be taken by the "spells of women" (brichta ban). In other tales women perform all such magical actions as are elsewhere ascribed to Druids. And after the Druids had passed away precisely similar actions--power over the weather, the use of incantations and amulets, shape-shifting and invisibility, etc.--were, and still are in remote Celtic regions, ascribed to witches. Much of the Druidic art, however, was also supposed to be possessed by saints and clerics, both in the past and in recent times. But women remained as magicians when the Druids had disappeared, partly because of female conservatism, partly because, even in pagan times, they had worked more or less secretly. At last the Church proscribed them and persecuted them. [35]

Several of these instances have shown the use of spells, and the Druid was believed to possess powerful incantations to discomfit an enemy or to produce other magical results. A special posture was adopted--standing on one leg, with one arm outstretched and one eye closed, perhaps to concentrate the force of the spell, but the power lay mainly in the spoken words, as we have seen in discussing Celtic formulæ of prayer. Such spells were also used by the Filid, or poets, since most primitive poetry has a magical aspect. Part of the training of the bard consisted in learning traditional incantations, which, used with due ritual, produced the magic result. Some of these incantations have already come before our notice, and probably some of the verses which Cæsar says the Druids would not commit to writing were of the nature of spells. The virtue of the spell lay in the spoken formula, usually introducing the name of a god or spirit, later a saint, in order to procure his intervention, through the power inherent in the name. Other charms recount an effect already produced, and this, through mimetic magic, is supposed to cause its repetition. The earliest written documents bearing upon the paganism of the insular Celts contain an appeal to "the science of Goibniu" to preserve butter, and another, for magical healing, runs, "I admire the healing which Diancecht left in his family, in order to bring health to those he succored." These are found in an eighth or ninth century MS., and, with their appeal to pagan gods, were evidently used in Christian times. Most Druidic magic was accompanied by a spell--transformation, invisibility, power over the elements, and the discovery of hidden persons or things. In other cases spells were used in medicine or for healing wounds. Thus the Tuatha Dé Danann told the Fomorians that they need not oppose them, because their Druids would restore the slain to life, and when Cúchulainn was wounded we hear less of medicines than of incantations used to stanch his blood. n other cases the Druid could remove barrenness by spells. The survival of the belief in spells among modern Celtic peoples is a convincing proof of their use in pagan times, and throws light upon their nature. In Brittany they are handed down in certain families, and are carefully guarded from the knowledge of others. The names of saints instead of the old gods are found in them, but in some cases diseases are addressed s personal beings. In the Highlands similar charms are found, and are often handed down from male to female, and from female to male. They are also in common use in Ireland. Besides healing diseases, such charms are supposed to cause fertility or bring good luck, or even to transfer the property of others to the reciter, or, in the case of darker magic, to cause death or disease. In Ireland, sorcerers could "rime either a man or beast to death," and this recalls the power of satire in the mouth of File or Druid. It raised blotches on the face of the victim, or even caused his death. [36]

Transformation

Transformations also figure strongly in Celtic stories. The Druid Fer Fidail transformed himself into an old woman to get close enough to a maiden in order to kidnap her. The god like figures of Taliesin and Amairgen would appear in whatever form they pleased. Priestesses of the goddess Sena learned the skill of transforming into a variety of animals and birds. Dalb the Rough changed three men and their wives into swine by her spells. Saar, the mother of Oisin, became a fawn through the power of the Druid Fear Doirche when she rejected his love; and similarly Tuirrenn, mother of Oisin’s hounds, was transformed into a stag-hound by the fairy mistress of her husband Iollann. Early stories about Saint Patrick tell of his ability to turn into a stag. In other instances in the sagas, women appear as birds. [37] Conairy Mor was son of a woman and a bird which could take human shape, and it was forbidden to him to hunt birds. On one occasion he did so, and for this as well as the breaking of other tabus, he lost his life. [38]

These transformation tales may be connected with totemism, for when this institution is decaying the current belief in shape-shifting is often made use of to explain descent from animals or the taboo against eating certain animals. In some of these Irish shape-shifting tales we find this taboo referred to. Thus, when the children of Lir were turned into swans, it was proclaimed that no one should kill a swan. The reason of an existing taboo seemed to be sufficiently explained when it was told that certain human beings had become swans. It is not impossible that the Druids made use of hypnotic suggestion to persuade others that they had assumed another form, as Red Indian shamans have been known to do, or even hallucinated others into the belief that their own form had been changed. [39]

The Celts, among other peoples, had a particular fascination with people turning into swans and vis-a-versa. Not only are Celtic legends full of references, but so are the myths of Greece (Apollos’s transformation of Cygnus. Orpheus’s transformation after his murder. Zeus changing himself into a swan to get some divine nookie from Leda); The Buriats of Siberia can trace their lineage back to an eagle and a swan. Odette, a princess who has been changed into a swan by the evil magician Baron von Rothbart. The quest of Hasan of Bassorah, from medieval Bagdad, has him recovering the magic cloak of his wife so that she could turn back into a swan and escape from an evil demon. German of Transylvania opens a forbidden door, and finds three swan-maids bathing in a blue pool. From Russia, Mikáilo Ivánovich wanders by the sea and just as he is about to shoot a swan, it turns into a woman and begs him for her live. The Hessians have a similar story only by a lake. And the fascination continues to this day with Peter, Paul and Mary’s Polly Von:

I shall tell of a hunter whose life was undone

By the cruel hand of evil at the setting of the sun

His arrow was loosed and it flew through the dark,

And his true love was slain as the shaft found its mark.

Chorus:

She’d her apron wrapped about her and he took her for a swan

But it’s oh and alas it was she, Polly Von

He ran up beside her and found it was she

He turned away his head for he could not bear to see

He lifted her up and found she was dead,

A fountain of tears for his true love, he shed. [40]
Edwin Sidney Hartland devoted two entire chapters to swan maidens in his book, The Science of Fairy Tales. The Celts, however, had a very strong affinity towards swans transformations and incorporated the concept into many of their stories. To harm a swan, or even mishandle swan feathers, could cause illness or death and to harm a woman could bring about the wrath of swans. [41] Cuchulain, the hero of the Ulster cycle, was the son of the swan maiden Dechtire and as such, was under a geas and was forbidden from harming or killing any swans.

Why swans? Perhaps of their almost human like devotion to their offspring? Or perhaps it is because they mate for life. (Although recent reports have surfaced that Black Australian swans do cheat on their mates). [42] My opinion is that their singing is hauntingly beautiful and, in the distance, is very difficult to distinguish from a human voice.

In "The Children of Lir," one of the Three Great Sorrows of Irish mythology, the four children of the lord of the sea are transformed into wild swans by the magic of a jealous step-mother. Neither Lir himself nor all the great magicians of the Tuatha De Danann can mitigate the power of the curse, and the four are condemned to spend three hundred years on Lake Derryvaragh, three hundred years on the Mull of Cantyre, and a final three hundred years off the stormy coast of Mayo. During this time, the Children of Lir retain the use of human speech, and the swans are famed throughout the land for the beauty of their song. The curse is ended when a princess of the South is wed to Lairgren, king of Connacht in the North. The swan-shapes fall away at last, but now they resume their human shapes as four withered and ancient souls. They soon die, and are buried together in a single grave by the edge of the sea. For many centuries, Irishmen would not harm a swan because of this sad story -- and country folk still say that a dying swan sings a song of eerie beauty, recalling the music of the Children of Lir...and echoing the ancient Greek belief that a swan sings sweetly once in a lifetime (ie: a "swan song"), in the moments before it dies. [43]

Style

To be honest, the style of writing I used in this story is more 19th century than 11th century. Probably because most of my references were written or translated in the 19th century, but more likely as I just wrote the story for entertainment, rather than any historical writing method. I tried to preserve the richness of the Celtic language without overwhelming the reader with too many Gaelic words and phrases. I feel that the blend of modern English with a smattering of Gaelic at key points helps to bring the story to life. Three examples of 19th century translations of medieval manuscripts that were contemporaries of Oidheadh Chloinne Lir are listed below:

As for Déirdre, she ate not her food, but she quenched her thirst out of a beaker of ale, and she takes with her the flesh of the calf, after covering it under a corner of her mantle, and she went to her tutor, and asks leave of him to go out for a while to walk at the back of the mansion. ‘The day is cold, and there is snow darkening in the air, daughter,’ said Cailcin, ‘but you can walk for a while under the shelter of the walls of the mansion, but mind the ... house of the hounds.’ Déirdre went out, and no stop was made by her until she passed down through the middle of the snow to where the den of the man-hounds was, and as soon as the hounds recognized her and the smell of the meat, they did not touch her, and they made no barking till she divided her food amongst them, and she returns into the house afterwards. [44]

Cuchulaind surpassed all of them at those feats for quickness and deftness. The women of Ulster loved Cuchulaind greatly for his quickness at the feats, for the nimbleness of his leap, for the excellency of his wisdom; for the sweetness of his speech, for the beauty of his face, for the loveliness of his look. For there were seven pupils in his kingly eyes, four of them in his one eye, and three of them in the other. He had seven fingers on either hand, and seven toes on either of his two feet. Many were his gifts. First, his gift of prudence until his warrior’s flame appeared, the gift of feats, the gift of buanfach, the gift of draught-playing, the gift of calculating, the gift of sooth-saying, the gift of sense, the gift of beauty. But three faults had Cuchulaind—that he was too young (for his moustache had not grown, and all the more would unknown youths deride him), that he was too daring, that he was too beautiful. [45]

That cure seemed evil to Dian-cecht. He flung a sword on the crown of his son’s head and cut the skin down to the flesh. The lad healed the wound by means of his skill. Dian-cecht smote him again and cut the flesh till he reached the bone. The lad healed this by the same means. He struck him the third blow and came to the membrane of his brain. The lad healed this also by the same means. Then he struck the fourth blow and cut out the brain, so that Miach died, and Dian-cecht said that the leech himself could not heal him of that blow. Thereafter Miach was buried by Dian-cecht, and herbs three hundred and sixty five, according to the number of his joints and sinews, grew through the grave. Then Airmed opened her mantle and separated those herbs according to their properties. But Dian-cecht came to her, and he confused the herbs, so that no one knows their proper cures unless the Holy Spirit should teach them afterwards. And Dian-cecht said ‘If Miach be not, Airmed shall remain’. [46]

Nor was it my intention to put the story into verse, which many writers have done.

Woe for Lir’s sweet children whom their vile stepmotherGlamoured with her witch-spells for a thousand years;Died their father raving, on his throne another,Blind before the end came from the burning tears.Long the swans have wandered over lake and river;Gone is all the glory of the race of Lir:Gone and long forgotten like a dream of fever:But the swans remember the sweet days that were. [47]

I chose prose to verse not only because I do not have the needed skill, as of yet, to cast such a long piece into verse, but also because the added complexity of molding the piece into some semblance of medieval verse is, at the moment, quite out of my reach. I chose to write the story in an interesting and engaging style, incorporating elements of Celtic legends and used the documentation research as an opportunity to learn more about the religious and mythical aspects of these stories. I hope you have enjoyed reading my work as much as I have had in writing it.

[1] People of the goddess Danu
[2] Pronoucned "Bove Darrig"
[3] Hill of the White Field
[4] Ireland
[5] Lake of the Red Eye
[6] Pronounced "Aev"
[7] Maid of the Fair Shoulder
[8] Pronounced "Ae", rhyming to ‘day’.
[9] Pronounced "Ee-fa"
[10] Lake of the Oak Trees
[11] Straits of Moyle, between Ireland and Scotland
[12] The North Atlantic ocean
[13] Rock of the Seals
[14] Northeastern Ireland in modern day County Mayo
[15] Lake of the Birds
[16] The Fate of the Children of Lir
[17] The Three Sorrows of Storytelling
[18] c. 1160
[19] Murphy, p107
[20] Fate of the Children of Tuireann
[21] Lamentable Fate of the Sons of Usnach
[22] Gregory
[23] Tlachtga
[24] Rollenston, p142
[25] Higginson, p23-4
[26] O’Flanagan, Cameron, Rolleston, Bonwick, Green, Burke, Ferguson, Howard, O’Grady, et al
[27] Rolleston, p138
[28] Bonwick, p25
[29] Meyers
[30] Power, p93
[31] Gaius Plinius Secundus (23-79 A.D.)
[32] MacCulloch, p206
[33] p125
[34] O’Flanagan, Cameron,
[35] MacCulloch, p319
[36] MacCulloch, p325-6
[37] Various sources
[38] Rolleston, p164-72
[39] MacCulloch, p323
[40] Yarrow/Stookey/Travers- Pepamar Music ASCAP
[41] Bonwick, p124 and Hull, p19
[42] Koole and Owens
[43] Windling
[44] Deirdre [Longes mac nUislenn], ed. Douglas Hyde, p151
[45] The Wooing of Emer, ed. Kuno Meyer, p70
[46] The Second Battle of Moytura, ed. Whitley Stokes, p69
[47] Tynan, p23

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