The Children of Lir
SOURCE: ROBERT WOEGER, UNSPLASH
Wise are a people who preserve and pass on their fairy tales. For they contain truths about life that are timeless and apply wherever people live. They can reach our hearts, move us, and inspire us to take new steps. And they strengthen our identity and awareness.
The Irish people are wise. They preserve and recount fairy tales such as that of the Children of Lir.
Lir lived in the east of Ireland. Half god, half human, he suffered deeply at the death of his beloved wife. When he could bear it no longer, he set out and travelled across the island. In the far north-west, he came to King Bogha Derg. The king had once been his rival, but now felt great compassion for the grieving Lir and offered him one of his three foster daughters as a wife. Lir agreed and chose Aoibh, the eldest. He took her home, and after a while she gave birth to twins, a daughter named Fionnuala and a son named Aodh. It was not long before she became pregnant again. However, when the two boys, Fiachra and Conn, were born, their mother died in childbirth.
Lir could scarcely bear the pain, and it was only his love for his four children that kept him alive. When Bogha Derg heard of this, his greatest desire was to ease Lir’s deep sorrow. And so he sent his middle foster-daughter, Aoife, to him. Now life could have turned out well. The children grew up, beautiful and charming. Everyone was delighted to see them, for it was a joy to watch them flourish. Above all, they were the joy of their father Lir. Fionnuala, his only daughter, was particularly dear to his heart. But the sting of jealousy cut deep into the heart of his wife Aoife, and whoever fails to pull it out falls ill. So it was with Aoife. She nurtured her envy, fell ill, and eventually withdrew completely into her chamber, from which she did not emerge for a full year. No one could help her.
One day, a druid turned up – one of the evil sort. He quickly discovered the cause of her suffering and knew just what to do. He told her to take the children to visit their father in the west and, whilst they were travelling, to kill the four of them when no one was looking. She would soon feel the healing power: once the children were gone, Lir would turn his full attention back to her and she would be well again.
That following night, Fionnuala dreamt of her terrible fate, but what could she possibly do as a child?
Soon everything was ready for the journey: the cart was packed, and the coachman, who was also to carry out the murder on Aoife’s behalf, had been hired. But he steadfastly refused; nothing could persuade him. So Aoife would have had to raise the sword against the children herself, but she could not bring herself to do it. Instead, she changed her plan. As they passed Loch Derravaragh, she enticed them to take a break with a refreshing swim. The girl had a bad feeling and warned her brothers, but they were soon splashing about in the water. Aoife seized the wand the druid had given her, touched the children with its tip, and at once they were transformed into swans. Fionnuala begged that the spell should not last forever. Then remorse overcame the stepmother. But she could no longer undo what had happened. She granted the children the ability to speak and set a condition under which they might regain their human form: a prince of the North must find a princess of the South. Until then, however, they would live for 300 years on this oak-lined lake, another 300 years in the far North, and yet another 300 years in the West.
When Aoife arrived at her foster father Bogha Derg’s court without the children, she lied to him, claiming they were ill. But he did not believe her; he put her into a deep sleep and then – unbeknownst to her – made her recount what had happened in the presence of the entire court. Enraged, the king then transformed Aoife into a grey eagle, doomed to soar through the skies for all eternity. He then decreed that no swan should ever again be killed throughout Ireland. For from that moment on, he saw in every one of these birds one of his beloved grandchildren.
A messenger had to deliver the sad news to Lir. Deeply shaken, he rode to the Oak Lake, saw the swans and heard the voices of his children. They told him everything, including that they would now have to live in this form for 900 years. Lir said: »How I would love to help you, but I cannot, and I shall never hold you in my arms again. But there is one thing I can do. I bestow upon you the gift of singing so beautifully that anyone who hears your song will stop in their tracks, entranced, and listen.«
The very next night, Lir heard the heart-melting song of the swans coming from the lake.
Rosemarie Monnerjahn
Vallendar, May 21, 2026
