Page:Folk-lore - A Quarterly Review. Volume 18, 1907.djvu/53

Her messenger she sent for Fraoch,
Who asked her what 'twas ailed her now.
Mai said her health would ne'er return,
Unless her fair soft palm was filled
With berries from the deep cold lake,
Gleaned by the hand of none but Fraoch.
"Ne'er have I yet request refused,"
Said Fithich's son of ruddy hue;
"Whate'er the lot of Fraoch may be,
The berries I will pull for Mai."
The fair-formed Fraoch then moved away
Down to the lake, prepared to swim.
He found the monster in deep sleep,
With head up-pointed to the tree. A sigh.

Fraoch Fithich's son of pointed arms,
Unheard by the monster, then approached.
He plucked a bunch of red-skinned fruit.
And brought it to where Mai did lie.
"Though what thou did'st thou hast done well,"
Said Mai, she of form so fair,
"My purpose nought, brave man, wilt serve,
But that from the root thou'dst tear the tree'"
No bolder heart there was than Fraoch's,
Again the slimy lake he swam;
Yet great as was his strength, he couldn't
Escape the death for him ordained.
Firm by its top he seized the tree,
And from the root did tear it up:
With speed again he makes for land.
But not before the beast awakes.
Fast he pursues, and, as he swam,
Seized in his horrid maw his arm.
Fraoch by the jaw then grasped the brute,
'Twas sad for him to want his knife:
The maid of softest waving hair,
In haste brought him a knife of gold.
The monster tore his soft white skin,
And hacked most grievously his arm.
Then fell they, sole to sole opposed,
Down on the southern stony strand,
Fraoch mac Fithich, he and the beast,
'Twere well that they had never fought.
Fierce was the conflict, yet 'twas long,—
The monster's head at length he took.
When the maid what happened saw,