But she--the gray vulture--she shall
fly in the sky, where it is stormy and cold. Where there are thick
clouds and where the rain is made, there shall be her home. She shall
not fly where the heaven is blue and where the sun shines warm. The
bells of the good men from over the sea shall bring her no peace. Her
way shall be with the wind and the hail. If she has any rest it shall
be on the peak of some wet crag, where the snow whirls around her, or
the fog drives past her, or the sleet cuts against her, or the cold
spray of the sea dashes over her. And it shall be so with her till the
Day of Doom.'
"When the King had finished speaking the gray vulture flew away, and
she was never seen again. But the King and all the court rode in
chariots to the lake where the white swans were, and Lir and all his
people came there, too, when they heard what had been done. And there
they all stood and listened to the singing of the four swans. So
beautiful was the song that those who listened could think of nothing
else while they heard it.
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