Still spake the swan-maiden. 'Three hundred years must we float on
this lone lake, three hundred years shall we be storm-tossed on the
waters between Erin and Alba, and three hundred years on the wild
Western Sea. Not until Decca be the Queen of Largnen, not until the
good Saint come to Erin and the chime of the Christ-bell be heard
in the land, not until then shall we be saved from our doom.'
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