Say, reverend Druids, can you bless in vain? Can you in vain extend your spotless hands? Will not heav'n listen when its priests complain, And save its altars from unhallow'd bands? Oh yes! I'll fear no more! The sacred groves,[4] That rear their untouch'd branches to the skies; Beneath whose shade its chosen servant roves, Hidden from weak, unconsecrated eyes: Beneath whose shade the choral bards rehearse, Piercing, with uprais'd eyes, each mist that shrouds, And, listening, catch the heav'n-dictated verse, By airs etherial wailed from the clouds: It ne'er can be--but hark! I hear the sound Of some one's step; yet not the youth I love; He would have flown, and scarcely touch'd the ground, Not ling'ring thus, with weary caution, move. The heavy wanderer approaches nigh, But the drear darkness skreens him from my views Ah, gracious heav'n! it was my Arthur's sigh, Which the unwilling breeze so faintly blew. Oh speak! inform me what I have to fear! Speak, and relieve my doubting, trembling heart! To thy Albina, with a tongue sincere, A portion of thy wretchedness impart!" "Sweet maid," replied the wounded, dying youth, In accents mournful, tremulous and slow, "Yes, I will ever answer thee with truth, While yet the feeble tide of life shall flow. We made the haughty Roman chiefs retire, The tow'ring, sacrilegious eagle[5] flew; Our bosoms swell'd with more than mortal fire, When from the field indignant they withdrew. But ill bespeaks my faint and languid tongue, The glowing beauties of that joyful sight; Ill can my breast, with keenest torture wrung, Dwell on the charming terrors of the fight. To others then I leave the envied strain, Which shall for ages rend the British air; Nor will thy partial ear expect, in vain, To find the humble name of Arthur there. I go, while now the victory is warm, The just reward of valour to obtain; Soon I return, clad in a nobler form,[6] Again to triumph, and again be slain. Ah! then, my dear Albina, cease to grieve, Nor at thy lover's glorious fate repine; For, though my present favour'd form I leave, This constant heart shall still be only thine. Alas! e'en now I feel the icy hand Of hasty death, press down my swelling heart; E'en now I hear a sweet aerial band, Summon thy faithful Arthur to depart. Let not thy tears an absent lover mourn, Remember that he bravely, nobly died; Remember that he quickly will return, And claim again his lov'd, his destin'd bride." As thus the warrior's fainting spirits fled, And parting life streamed forth at every vein, His quivering lip, in whispers, softly said, "Remember, Arthur dies to live again!" "Oh stay, dear youth!" the hapless maiden cries, My best-lov'd Arthur, but one moment stay! And close not yet those all-enlivening eyes, So lately lighted at the torch of day.