ALBIN and the DAUGHTER of MEY . An old tale , translated from the Irish . By the late Mr. JEROM STONE . WHence come these dismal sounds that fill our ears ! Why do the groves such lamentations send ! Why sit the virgins on the hill of tears , While heavy sighs their tender bosoms rend ! They weep for ALBIN with the flowing hair , Who perish'd by the cruelty of MEY ; A blameless hero , blooming , young , and fair ; Because he scorn'd her passion to obey . See on you western hill the heap of stones , Which mourning friends have raised o'er his bones ! O woman ! bloody , bloody was thy deed ; The blackness of thy crime exceeds belief ; The story makes each heart but thine to bleed , And fills both men and maids with keenest grief ! Behold thy daughter , beauteous as the sky , When early morn transcends yon eastern hills , She lov'd the youth who by thy guile did die , And now our ears with lamentations fills : 'Tis she , who sad , and grov'ling on the ground , Weeps o'er his grave , and makes the woods resound . A thousand graces did the maid adorn : Her looks were charming and her heart was kind ; Her eyes were like the windows of the morn , And Wisdom's habitation was her mind . A hundred heroes try'd her love to gain : She pity'd them , yet did their suits deny : Young ALBIN only courted not in vain , ALBIN alone was lovely in her eye : Love fill'd their bosoms with a mutual flame ; Their birth was equal , and their age the same . Her mother MEY , a woman void of truth , In practice of deceit and guile grown old , Conceiv'd a guilty passion for the youth , And in his ear the shameful story told : But o'er his mind she never could prevail ; For in his life no wickedness was found ; With shame and rage he heard the horrid tale , And shook with indignation at the sound : He fled to shun her ; while with burning wrath The monster , in revenge , decreed his death . Amidst Lochmey , at distance from the shore , On a green island , grew a stately tree , With precious fruit each season cover'd o'er , Delightful to the taste , and fair to see : This fruit , more sweet than virgin honey found , Serv'd both alike for physic and for food ; It cur'd diseases , heal'd the bleeding wound , And hunger's rage for three long days withstood . But precious things are purchas'd still with pain , And thousands try'd to pluck it , but in vain . For at the root of this delightful tree , A venomous and awful dragon lay , With watchful eyes , all horrible to see , Who drove th' affrighted passengers away . Worse than the viper's sting its teeth did wound , The wretch who felt it soon behov'd to die ; Nor could physician ever yet be found Who might a certain antidote apply : Ev'n they whose skill had sav'd a mighty host , Against its bite no remedy could boast . Revengeful MEY , her fury to appease , And him destroy who durst her passion slight , Feign'd to be stricken with a dire disease , And call'd the hapless ALBIN to her sight : " Arise , young hero ! skill'd in feats of war , On yonder lake your dauntless courage prove ; To pull me of the fruit , now bravely dare , And save the mother of the maid you love . I die without its influence divine ; Nor will I taste it from a hand but thine . " With downcast-look the lovely youth reply'd , " Though yet my feats of valour have been few , My might in this adventure shall be try'd ; I go to pull the healing fruit for you . " With stately steps approaching to the deep , The hardy hero swims the liquid tide ; With joy he finds the dragon fast asleep , Then pulls the fruit , and comes in safety back ; Then with a chearful countenance , and gay , He gives the present to the hands of MEY . " Well have you done , to bring me of this fruit ; But greater signs of prowess must you give : Go pull the tree entirely by the root , And bring it hither , or I cease to live . " Though hard the task , like lightning fast he flew , And nimbly glided o'er the yielding tide ; Then to the tree with manly steps he drew , And pull'd , and tugg'd it hard , from side to side : Its bursting roots his strength could not withstand ; He tears it up , and bears it in his hand . But long , alas ! ere he could reach the shore , Or fix his footsteps on the solid sand , The monster follow'd with a hideous roar , And like a fury grasp'd him by the hand . Then , gracious God ! what dreadful struggling rose ! He grasps the dragon by th' invenom'd jaws , In vain : for round the bloody current flows , While its fierce teeth his tender body gnaws . He groans through anguish of the grievous wound , And cries for help ; but , ah ! no help was found ? At length the maid , now wond'ring at his stay , And rack'd with dread of some impending ill , Swift to the lake , to meet him , bends her way ; And there beheld what might a virgin kill ! She saw her lover struggling on the flood , The dreadful monster gnawing at his side ; She saw young ALBIN fainting , while his blood With purple tincture dy'd the liquid tide ! Though pale with fear , she plunges in the wave , And to the hero's hand a dagger gave ! Alas ! too late ; yet gath'ring all his force , He drags , at last , his hissing foe to land . Yet there the battle still grew worse and worse , And long the conflict lasted on the strand . At length he happily descry'd a part , Just where the scaly neck and breast did meet ; Through this he drove a well-directed dart , And laid the monster breathless at his feet . The lovers shouted when they saw him dead , While from his trunk they cut the bleeding head . But soon the venom of his mortal bite Within the hero's bosom spreads like flame ; His face grew pale , his strength forsook him quite , And o'er his trembling limbs a numbness came . Then fainting on the slimy shore he fell , And utter'd , with a heavy , dying groan , These tender words , " My lovely maid , farewel ! Remember ALBIN ; for his life is gone ! " These sounds , like thunder , all her sense oppress'd , And swooning down she fell upon his breast . At last , the maid awak'ning as from sleep , Felt all her soul o'erwhelm'd in deep despair , Her eyes star'd wild , she rav'd , she could not weep , She beat her bosom , and she tore her hair ! She look'd now on the ground , now on the skies , Now gaz'd around , like one imploring aid : But none was near in pity to her cries , No comfort came to sooth the hapless maid ! Then grasping in her palm , that shone like snow , The youth's dead hand , she thus express'd her wo . Burst , burst , my heart ! the lovely youth is dead , Who , like the dawn , was wont to bring me joy ; Now birds of prey will hover round his head , And wild beasts seek his carcase to destroy ; While I who lov'd him , and was lov'd again , With sighs and lamentable strains must tell , How by no hero's valour he was slain , But struggling with a beast inglorious fell ! This makes my tears with double anguish flow , This adds affliction to my bitter woe ! Yet fame and dauntless valour he could boast ; With matchless strength his manly limbs were bound ; That force would have dismay'd a mighty host , He show'd , before the dragon could him wound . His curling locks , that wanton'd in the breeze , Were blacker than the raven's ebon wing ; His teeth were whiter than the fragrant trees , When blossoms clothe them in the days of spring ; A brighter red his glowing cheeks did stain , Than blood of tender heifer newly slain . A purer azure sparkled in his eye , Than that of icy shoal in mountain found ; Whene'er he spoke , his voice was melody , And sweeter far than instrumental sound . O he was lovely ! fair as purest snow , Whose wreaths the tops of highest mountains crown ; His lips were radiant as the heav'nly bow ; His skin was softer than the softest down ; More sweet his breath than fragrant bloom , or rose , Or gale that cross a flow'ry garden blows . But when in battle with our foes he join'd , And sought the hottest dangers of the fight , The stoutest chiefs stood wond'ring far behind , And none durst try to rival him in might ! His ample shield then seem'd a gate of brass , His awful sword did like the lightning shine ! No force of steel could through his armour pass , His spear was like a mast , or mountain-pine ! Ev'n kings and heroes trembled at his name , And conquest smil'd where-'er the warrior came ! Great was the strength of his unconquer'd hand , Great was his swiftness in the rapid race ; None could the valour of his arm withstand , None could outstrip him in the days of chace . Yet he was tender , merciful , and kind ; His vanquish'd foes his clemency confess'd ; No cruel purpose labour'd in his mind , No thought of envy harbour'd in his breast . He was all gracious , bounteous , and benign , And in his soul superior to a king ! But now he's gone ! and nought remains but wo For wretched me ; with him my joys are fled , Around his tomb my tears shall ever flow , The rock my dwelling , and the clay my bed ! Ye maids , and matrons , from your hills descend , To join my moan , and answer tear for tear ; With me the hero to his grave attend , And sing the songs of mourning round his bier . Through his own grove his praise we will proclaim , And bid the place for ever bear his name .