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.