"Ye with the white faces! Ye with the stammering
Gaelic on your tongues!
Soft was your nurture in the King's house--
Now shall ye know the buffeting wind!
Nine hundred years upon the tide.

"The heart of Lir shall bleed!
None of his victories shall stead him now!
Woe to me that I shall hear his groan,
Woe that I have deserved his wrath!"

Then they caught and yoked her horses, and Aoife went on her way till
she reached the palace of Bóv the Red. Here she and her folk were
welcomed and entertained, and Bóv the Red inquired of her why she had
not brought with her the children of Lir.

"I brought them not," she replied, "because Lir loves thee not, and he
fears that if he sends his children to thee, thou wouldst capture them
and hold them for hostages."

"That is strange," said Bóv the Red, "for I love those children as if
they were my own." And his mind misgave him that some treachery had
been wrought; and he sent messengers privily northwards to the Hill of
the White Field. "For what have ye come?" asked Lir. "Even to bring
your children to Bóv the Red," said they. "Did they not reach you with
Aoife?" said Lir. "Nay," said the messengers, "but Aoife said you
would not permit them to go with her."

Then fear and trouble came upon Lir, for he surmised that Aoife had