A SCOTTISH LEGEND.
“THE western sun shines o'er the loch,
And gilds the mountain's brow,
And what are Nature's smiles tae me,
Without the smile of you ?”
“O will ye go to Garnock side,
Where birks and woodbines twine !
I've socht ye aft to be my bride,
Whan ! whan will ye be mine ?”
“Aft as ye socht me for your bride,
My mind spak frae my e'e ;
Then wherefore seek tae win a heart
That is not mine tae gi'e ?”
“Wi' Connel doun the dusky dale
Lang 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
Burns 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 on Flodden Field, [1]
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 !—murderer !—
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.
Note by Motherwell.—“‘Connel and Flora’ is read without emotion, and never thought of again after perusal. This piece has none of that noble simplicity of diction and disregard to meretricious ornament which distin-guish the ballad from every other kind of poetry, and give it all its peculiar charm. With the exception of one or two stanzas, ‘Connel and Flora’ glisten in all the showy and unmeaning garniture of wordiness, and fulness of sounding epithet, that disgusted us so in the balladmongery lately in vogue, but now happily rooted out and despised, never, it is hoped, to be again cultivated or esteemed.”
Note by Ramsay.—“This attempt to engraft modern refinement upon ancient simplicity is, we think, unsucceesful”
The scene of this legend is laid in the Parish of Kilbirnie, in the vicinity of the loch of that name, and Glengarnock Castle, shortly after the bloody Battle of Flodden. The Garnock River flows from the base of the hill of Staik in Lochwinnoch Parish,—a hill 1200 feet above the level of the sea,—and flows through the Parishes of Kilbirnie, Dalry, Kilwinning, and Irvine, and falls into the Firth of Clyde. The characters represented are Flora, —a young maiden plighted to the youthful Connel down the dusky dale ; and Donald, —a surviving trooper of the fatal field of Flodden, suing Flora for his bride. The ancient Castle of Garnock, said to have been the residence of Hardyknute, was not very far from Langcraft in Lochwinnoch Parish, the residence of Tannahill's granduncle, Hugh Brodie, where the mother of the Poet was brought up, and would be visited by him in his rambles in that district of country. —Ed.
[1] The Battle of Flodden Field was fought on 9th September, 1513, between King James IV. of Scotland and King Henry VIII. of England, brothers-in-law. It was a sad day for Scotland, for the Scots army was signally defeated,—King James and the choicest of the nobility having been slain. In that disastrous engagement, several dignitaries of the Church, twelve peers, thirteen lords, five eldest sons of peers, fifty gentlemen of note, and about 1000 men, were left lying dead on the field with their Sovereign. —Ed.
[Semple 41]