No high-born heroes
No hounds in chase
No shields arrayed…
No silvered soft goblets
No light cavalcades
No youthful assemblies
No beetle-browed maids…
To brighten our desolate halls.
…When their three hundred years were ended the swans left the Sea of Moyle and flew westward until they reached Erris Domnan and the sea around the Isle of Glora.
Here they remained, suffering much from storm and cold.
One night a frost so hard came that the whole of the sea was frozen into a thick floor of ice and the snow was driven by a north-west wind.
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