Classic Poem

Connel and Flor

A SCOTTISH LEGEND

" The western sun shines o'er the Loch,
And gilds the mountain's brow,
But what are Nature's smiles to me,
Without the smile of you?

" O will ye go to Garnock side!
Where birks and woodbines twine —
I've sought you oft to be my bride,
When! when will ye be mine? "

" Oft as ye sought me for your bride,
My mind spoke frae my e'e;
Then wherefore seek to win a heart,
That is not mine to gi'e? "

" With Connel down the dusky dale,
Long plighted are my vows:
He won my heart before I wist
I had a heart to lose. "

The fire flash'd from his eyes of wrath,
Dark gloom'd his heavy brow,
He grasp'd her in his arms of strength,
And strain'd to lay her low.

She wept and cried — the rocks replied —
The echoes from their cell,
On fairy wing, swift bore her voice
To Connel of the dale.

With vengeful haste he hied him up,
But when stern Donald saw
The youth approach, deep stung with guilt,
He, shame-fac'd, fled awa'.

" Ah! stay, my Connel — sheath thy sword —
O do not him pursue!
For mighty are his arms of strength,
And thou the fight may rue. " —

" No! — wait thee here — I'll soon return —
I mark'd him from the wood! —
The lion heart of jealous love,
Burn's for its rival's blood! "

" Ho! stop thee, coward — villain vile!
With all thy boasted art,
My sword's blade soon shall dim its shine,
Within thy reynard heart! "

" Ha! foolish stripling, dost thou urge
The deadly fight with me?
This arm strove hard in Flodden Field
Dost think 'twill shrink from thee! "

" Thy frequent vaunts of Flodden Field
Were ever fraught with guile:
For honour ever marks the brave,
But thou'rt a villain vile! "

Their broad blades glitter to the sun,
The woods resound each clash,
Young Connel sinks 'neath Donald's sword,
With deep and deadly gash.

" Ah! dearest Flora, soon our morn
Of love is overcast!
The hills look dim — Alas! my love! "
He groan'd, and breath'd his last.

" Stay, ruthless Ruffian! — murtherer
Here glut thy savage wrath!
Be thou the baneful minister
To join us low in death! "

In wild despair she tore her hair,
Sunk speechless by his side —
Mild Evening wept in dewy tears,
And, wrapt in Night, she died.English