University of Virginia Library

Now Autumn clouds the face of day;
With rising mists the hills are grey;
The winds conflicting howl around,
While the dark stream, with thundering sound
Rolling thro' the narrow plain,
Pours its rapid tide amain.
There yon lone tree, with spreading shade,
Marks the sad spot where Connal's laid.
Oft when the bleak winds loudly blow
The whirling leaves his grave bestrew:
Oft, as with solitary pace
The musing hunter leaves the chase,
He starts to see with feeble cry
The airy forms glide swiftly by.
Come, Connal! come, in all thy might,
Clad in thy wonted arms of light!
Thou to Crimora o'er thy tomb
(So breaks the moon thro' midnight's gloom)
In all thy beauty shine confest,
Thy golden locks, thy snowy breast.
Illustrious warrior! who shall trace
The triumphs of thy war-worn race?
Long grew thy house; like some tall oak,
The pride of Morven's wood-crowned rock;
Uninjured long the blast it meets,
Around its head the tempest beats,
Long beats in vain,—but now o'ercome
It bows, it falls, in Connal's tomb.
Who now, with Connal's courage steeled,
Shall lead us to the embattled field?
Here fierce war blew its loud alarms
Mid dying groans and clashing arms:
Here, mightiest of the mighty slain,
O Connal! thou didst press the plain.
Thy lifted arm in tempests fell;
Like lightning blaz'd thy angry steel;
High as a rock thy stature rose;
Thine eyes shot flames amid thy foes;
Loud as when hoarse waves lash the shore
Thy voice inflamed the battle's roar;
And where thou turnedst on the heath
Warriors resistless sank in death:
As when some boy in wanton play
Lops the tall thistle's stalk away.
With fury Dargo's bosom glowed,
Dark as a storm he onward strode:
His hollow eyes he threw around,
Then full on Connal bent, and frowned.
High-waved their bickering falchions flashed,
While loud the pierced hauberk crashed.
But lo! amid the thickest fight,
Sheathed in old Rinval's arms of light,
Crimora stood: her hair behind
Loose floated on the heaving wind;
A bow she bore; with decent pride
A quiver rattled at her side:
Thus, like some warlike youth arrayed,
By Connal fought the lovely maid;
And now on Dargo's breast she drew
With erring hand the faithless yew;
Unhappy love! the fatal dart
Stood quivering in her Connal's heart.
What shall she do? his swimming eyes
Are closed! he faints! her Connal dies!
Wildly she roams the desert hill,
And weeps, and calls on Connal still;
Till, spent with grief, she faintly sighed
Her Connal's name;—then bowed and died.
Here, in thy lap, O Earth, is laid
The bravest youth, the loveliest maid.
Tho' now the creeping moss hath grown
Around their monumental stone;
While softly sighs the passing wind,
Their memory rushes on my mind.
Unhappy pair! yet here ye rest;
Here none your lonely tomb molest.