The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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Connel of Dee.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
Connel of Dee.
Connel went out by a blink of the moon
To his light little bower in the deane;
He thought they had gi'en him his supper owre soon,
And that still it was lang until e'en.
Oh! the air was so sweet, and the sky so serene,
And so high his soft languishment grew—
That visions of happiness danc'd o'er his mind;
He long'd to leave parent and sisters behind,
For he thought that his Maker to him was unkind:
For that high were his merits he knew.
To his light little bower in the deane;
He thought they had gi'en him his supper owre soon,
And that still it was lang until e'en.
Oh! the air was so sweet, and the sky so serene,
And so high his soft languishment grew—
That visions of happiness danc'd o'er his mind;
He long'd to leave parent and sisters behind,
For he thought that his Maker to him was unkind:
For that high were his merits he knew.
Sooth, Connel was halesome, and stalwart to see,
The bloom of fayre yudith he wore;
But the lirk of displeasure hang over his bree,
Nae glisk of contentment it bore;
He lang'd for a wife with a mailen and store;
He grevit in idless to lie;
Afar from his cottage he wished to remove
To wassail and waik, and unchided to rove,
And beik in the cordial transports of love
All under a kindlier sky.
The bloom of fayre yudith he wore;
But the lirk of displeasure hang over his bree,
Nae glisk of contentment it bore;
He lang'd for a wife with a mailen and store;
He grevit in idless to lie;
Afar from his cottage he wished to remove
To wassail and waik, and unchided to rove,
And beik in the cordial transports of love
All under a kindlier sky.
Oh sweet was the fa' of that gloaming to view!
The day-lighte crap laigh on the doon,
And left its pale borders abeigh on the blue,
To mix wi' the beams of the moon.
The hill hang its skaddaw the greinwud aboon,
The houf of the bodyng Benshee;
Slow o'er him were sailing the cloudlets of June;
The beetle began his wild airel to tune,
And sang on the wynde with ane eirysome croon,
Away on the breeze of the Dee!
The day-lighte crap laigh on the doon,
And left its pale borders abeigh on the blue,
To mix wi' the beams of the moon.
The hill hang its skaddaw the greinwud aboon,
The houf of the bodyng Benshee;
Slow o'er him were sailing the cloudlets of June;
The beetle began his wild airel to tune,
And sang on the wynde with ane eirysome croon,
Away on the breeze of the Dee!
With haffat on lufe poor Connel lay lorn,
He languishit for muckle and mair;
His bed of greine hether he eynit to scorn,
The bygane he doughtna weel bear.
Attour him the greine leife was fannyng the air,
In noiseless and flychtering play;
The hush of the water fell saft on his ear,
And he fand as gin sleep, wi' her gairies, war near,
Wi' her freaks and her ferlies and phantoms of fear,
But he eidently wysit her away.
He languishit for muckle and mair;
His bed of greine hether he eynit to scorn,
The bygane he doughtna weel bear.
Attour him the greine leife was fannyng the air,
In noiseless and flychtering play;
The hush of the water fell saft on his ear,
And he fand as gin sleep, wi' her gairies, war near,
Wi' her freaks and her ferlies and phantoms of fear,
But he eidently wysit her away.
Short time had he sped in that sellible strife
Ere he saw a young maiden stand by,
Who seem'd in the bloom and the bell of her life;
He wist not that ane was sae nigh!
But sae sweet was her look, and sae saft was her eye,
That his heart was all quaking with love;
And then there was kything a dimple sae sly,
At play on her cheek, of the moss-rose's dye,
That kindled the heart of poor Connel on high
With ravishment deadlye to prove.
Ere he saw a young maiden stand by,
Who seem'd in the bloom and the bell of her life;
He wist not that ane was sae nigh!
But sae sweet was her look, and sae saft was her eye,
That his heart was all quaking with love;
And then there was kything a dimple sae sly,
At play on her cheek, of the moss-rose's dye,
That kindled the heart of poor Connel on high
With ravishment deadlye to prove.
He deemed her a beautiful spirit of night,
And eiry was he to assay;
But he found she was mortal with thrilling delight,
For her breath was like zephyr of May;
Her eye was the dew-bell, the beam of the day,
And her arm it was softer than silk;
Her hand was so warm, and her lip was so red,
Her slim taper waiste so enchantingly made,
And some beauties moreover that cannot be said—
Of bosom far whiter than milk!
And eiry was he to assay;
But he found she was mortal with thrilling delight,
For her breath was like zephyr of May;
Her eye was the dew-bell, the beam of the day,
And her arm it was softer than silk;
Her hand was so warm, and her lip was so red,
Her slim taper waiste so enchantingly made,
And some beauties moreover that cannot be said—
Of bosom far whiter than milk!
Poor Connel was reaved of all power and of speech,
His frame grew all powerless and weak;
He neither could stir, nor caress her, nor fleech;
He trembled, but word couldna speak.
But Oh! when his lips touched her soft rosy cheek,
The channels of feeling ran dry;
He found that like emmets his life-blood it crept,
His liths turned as limber as dud that is steeped;
He streekit his limbs, and he moaned and he wept,
And for love he was just gaun to die.
His frame grew all powerless and weak;
He neither could stir, nor caress her, nor fleech;
He trembled, but word couldna speak.
But Oh! when his lips touched her soft rosy cheek,
The channels of feeling ran dry;
He found that like emmets his life-blood it crept,
His liths turned as limber as dud that is steeped;
He streekit his limbs, and he moaned and he wept,
And for love he was just gaun to die.
The damsel beheld, and she raised him so kind,
And she said, “My dear beautiful swain,
Take heart till I tell you the hark of my mind;
I'm weary of living my lane;
I have castles, and lands, and flocks of my ain,
But want ane my gillour to share;
A man that is hale as the hart on the hill,
As stark, and as kind, is the man to my will,
Who has slept on the heather and drank of the rill,
And, like you, gentle, amorous, and fair.
And she said, “My dear beautiful swain,
Take heart till I tell you the hark of my mind;
I'm weary of living my lane;
I have castles, and lands, and flocks of my ain,
But want ane my gillour to share;
A man that is hale as the hart on the hill,
As stark, and as kind, is the man to my will,
Who has slept on the heather and drank of the rill,
And, like you, gentle, amorous, and fair.
“I often hae heard, that like you there was nane,
And I ance got a glisk of thy face;
Now far have I ridden, and far have I gane,
In hopes thou wilt nurice the grace
To make me thy ain—Oh, come to my embrace,
For I love thee as dear as my life!
I'll make thee a laird of the boonmost degree,
My castles and lands I'll give freely to thee;
Though rich and abundant, thine own they shall be,
If thou wilt but make me thy wife.”
And I ance got a glisk of thy face;
Now far have I ridden, and far have I gane,
In hopes thou wilt nurice the grace
To make me thy ain—Oh, come to my embrace,
For I love thee as dear as my life!
I'll make thee a laird of the boonmost degree,
My castles and lands I'll give freely to thee;
Though rich and abundant, thine own they shall be,
If thou wilt but make me thy wife.”
Oh! never was man sae delighted and fain!
He bowed a consent to her will;
Kind Providence thankit again and again,
And 'gan to display his rude skill
In leifu' endearment; and thought it nae ill
To kiss the sweet lips of the fair,
And press her to lie, in that gloamin' sae still,
Adown by his side in the howe of the hill,
For the water flowed sweet, and the sound of the rill
Would soothe every sorrow and care.
He bowed a consent to her will;
288
And 'gan to display his rude skill
In leifu' endearment; and thought it nae ill
To kiss the sweet lips of the fair,
And press her to lie, in that gloamin' sae still,
Adown by his side in the howe of the hill,
For the water flowed sweet, and the sound of the rill
Would soothe every sorrow and care.
No—she wadna lie by the side of a man
Till the rites of the marriage were bye.
Away they hae sped; but soon Connel began,
For his heart it was worn to a sigh,
To fondle, and simper, and look in her eye,
Oh! direful to bear was his wound!
When on her fair neck fell his fingers sae dun—
It strak through his heart like the shot of a gun!
He felt as the sand of existence were run:
He trembled, and fell to the ground.
Till the rites of the marriage were bye.
Away they hae sped; but soon Connel began,
For his heart it was worn to a sigh,
To fondle, and simper, and look in her eye,
Oh! direful to bear was his wound!
When on her fair neck fell his fingers sae dun—
It strak through his heart like the shot of a gun!
He felt as the sand of existence were run:
He trembled, and fell to the ground.
O Connel, dear Connel, be patient a while!
These wounds of thy bosom will heal,
And thou with thy love mayest walk many a mile
Nor transport nor passion once feel.
Thy spirits once broke on electeric wheel,
Cool reason her empire shall gain;
And haply, repentance in dowy array,
And laithly disgust may arise in thy way,
Encumbering the night, and o'ercasting the day,
And turn all those pleasures to pain.
These wounds of thy bosom will heal,
And thou with thy love mayest walk many a mile
Nor transport nor passion once feel.
Thy spirits once broke on electeric wheel,
Cool reason her empire shall gain;
And haply, repentance in dowy array,
And laithly disgust may arise in thy way,
Encumbering the night, and o'ercasting the day,
And turn all those pleasures to pain.
The mansion is gained, and the bridal is past,
And the transports of wedlock prevail;
The lot of poor Connel the shepherd is cast
'Mid pleasures that never can fail.
The balms of Arabia sweeten the gale,
The tables for ever are spread
With damask, and viands and heart-cheering wine
Their splendour and elegance fully combine;
His lawns they are ample, his bride is divine,
And of goud-fringed silk is his bed.
And the transports of wedlock prevail;
The lot of poor Connel the shepherd is cast
'Mid pleasures that never can fail.
The balms of Arabia sweeten the gale,
The tables for ever are spread
With damask, and viands and heart-cheering wine
Their splendour and elegance fully combine;
His lawns they are ample, his bride is divine,
And of goud-fringed silk is his bed.
The transports of love gave rapture, and flew;
The banquet soon sated and cloyed;
Nae mair they delighted, nae langer were new,
They could not be ever enjoyed!
He felt in his bosom a fathomless void,
A yearning again to be free;
Than all that voluptuous sickening store,
The wine that he drank and the robes that he wore,
His diet of milk had delighted him more
Afar on the hills of the Dee.
The banquet soon sated and cloyed;
Nae mair they delighted, nae langer were new,
They could not be ever enjoyed!
He felt in his bosom a fathomless void,
A yearning again to be free;
Than all that voluptuous sickening store,
The wine that he drank and the robes that he wore,
His diet of milk had delighted him more
Afar on the hills of the Dee.
Oh, oft had he sat by the clear springing well,
And dined from his wallet full fain!
Then sweet was the scent of the blue heather-bell,
And free was his bosom of pain.
The laverock was lost in the lift, but her strain
Came trilling so sweetly from far,
To rapture the hour he would wholly resign,
He would listen, and watch, till he saw her decline,
And the sun's yellow beam on her dappled breast shine,
Like some little musical star.
And dined from his wallet full fain!
Then sweet was the scent of the blue heather-bell,
And free was his bosom of pain.
The laverock was lost in the lift, but her strain
Came trilling so sweetly from far,
To rapture the hour he would wholly resign,
He would listen, and watch, till he saw her decline,
And the sun's yellow beam on her dappled breast shine,
Like some little musical star.
And then he wad lay his blue bonnet aside,
And turn his rapt eyes to the heaven,
And bless his kind Maker who all did provide;
And beg that he might be forgiven,
For his sins were like crimson—all bent and uneven
The path he had wilesomely trod;
Then who the delight of his bosom could tell!
Oh, sweet was that meal by his pure mountain well;
And sweet was its water he drank from the shell,
And peaceful his moorland abode.
And turn his rapt eyes to the heaven,
And bless his kind Maker who all did provide;
And beg that he might be forgiven,
For his sins were like crimson—all bent and uneven
The path he had wilesomely trod;
Then who the delight of his bosom could tell!
Oh, sweet was that meal by his pure mountain well;
And sweet was its water he drank from the shell,
And peaceful his moorland abode.
But now was he deaved and babbled outright,
By gossips in endless array,
Who thought not of sin nor of Satan aright,
Nor the dangers that mankind belay;
Who joked about heaven, and scorned to pray,
And gloried in that was a shame.
Oh, Connel was troubled at things that befell!
So different from scenes he had once loved so well,
He deemed he was placed on the confines of hell,
And fand like the sa'ur of its flame!
By gossips in endless array,
Who thought not of sin nor of Satan aright,
Nor the dangers that mankind belay;
Who joked about heaven, and scorned to pray,
And gloried in that was a shame.
Oh, Connel was troubled at things that befell!
So different from scenes he had once loved so well,
He deemed he was placed on the confines of hell,
And fand like the sa'ur of its flame!
Of bonds and of law-suits he still was in doubt,
And old debts coming due every day;
And a thousand odd things he ken'd naething about
Kept him in continued dismay.
At board he was awkward, nor wist what to say,
Nor what his new honours became;
His guests they wad mimic and laugh in their sleeve;
He blushed, and he faltered, and scarce dought believe
That men were so base as to smile and deceive;
Or eynied of him to make game!
And old debts coming due every day;
And a thousand odd things he ken'd naething about
Kept him in continued dismay.
At board he was awkward, nor wist what to say,
Nor what his new honours became;
His guests they wad mimic and laugh in their sleeve;
He blushed, and he faltered, and scarce dought believe
That men were so base as to smile and deceive;
Or eynied of him to make game!
Still franker and freer his gossippers grew,
And preyed upon him and his dame;
Their jests and their language to Connel were new,
It was slander, and cursing, and shame.
He groaned in his heart, and he thought them to blame
For revel and rout without end;
He saw himself destined to pamper and feed
A race whom he hated, a profligate breed,
The scum of existence to vengeance decreed,
Who laughed at their God and their friend.
And preyed upon him and his dame;
Their jests and their language to Connel were new,
It was slander, and cursing, and shame.
He groaned in his heart, and he thought them to blame
For revel and rout without end;
He saw himself destined to pamper and feed
A race whom he hated, a profligate breed,
The scum of existence to vengeance decreed,
Who laughed at their God and their friend.
He saw that in wickedness all did delight,
And he ken'dna what length it might bear;
They drew him to evil by day and by night,
To scenes that he trembled to share.
His heart it grew sick, and his head it grew fair,
And he thought what he dared not to tell:
He thought of the far distant hills of the Dee;
Of his cake, and his cheese, and his lair on the lea
Of the laverock that hung on the heaven's e'e-bree
His prayer, and his clear mountain well.
And he ken'dna what length it might bear;
They drew him to evil by day and by night,
To scenes that he trembled to share.
His heart it grew sick, and his head it grew fair,
And he thought what he dared not to tell:
He thought of the far distant hills of the Dee;
Of his cake, and his cheese, and his lair on the lea
Of the laverock that hung on the heaven's e'e-bree
His prayer, and his clear mountain well.
His breast he durst sparingly trust wi' the thought
Of the virtuous days that were fled;
Yet still his kind lady he loved as he ought,
Or soon from that scene he had fled.
It now was but rarely she honoured his bed—
'Twas modesty, heightening her charms!
A delicate feeling that man cannot ween:
O Heaven! each night from his side she had been—
He found it at length—nay, he saw't wi' his een,
She slept in a paramour's arms!!!
Of the virtuous days that were fled;
Yet still his kind lady he loved as he ought,
Or soon from that scene he had fled.
It now was but rarely she honoured his bed—
'Twas modesty, heightening her charms!
289
O Heaven! each night from his side she had been—
He found it at length—nay, he saw't wi' his een,
She slept in a paramour's arms!!!
It was the last pang that the spirit could bear,
Destruction and death was the meed:
For forfeited vows there was nought too severe;
Even conscience applauded the deed.
His mind was decided, her doom was decreed;
He led her to chamber apart,
To give her to know of his wrongs he had sense,
To chide and upbraid her in language intense,
And kill her, at least, for her heinous offence—
A crime at which demons would start!
Destruction and death was the meed:
For forfeited vows there was nought too severe;
Even conscience applauded the deed.
His mind was decided, her doom was decreed;
He led her to chamber apart,
To give her to know of his wrongs he had sense,
To chide and upbraid her in language intense,
And kill her, at least, for her heinous offence—
A crime at which demons would start!
With grievous reproaches, in agonized zeal,
Stern Connel his lecture began;
He mentioned her crime!—She turned on her heel
And her mirth to extremity ran.
“Why, that was the fashion!—no sensible man
Could e'er of such freedom complain.
What was it to him? there were maidens enow
Of the loveliest forms, and the loveliest hue,
Who blithely would be his companions, he knew,
If he wearied of lying his lane.”
Stern Connel his lecture began;
He mentioned her crime!—She turned on her heel
And her mirth to extremity ran.
“Why, that was the fashion!—no sensible man
Could e'er of such freedom complain.
What was it to him? there were maidens enow
Of the loveliest forms, and the loveliest hue,
Who blithely would be his companions, he knew,
If he wearied of lying his lane.”
How Connel was shocked!—but his fury still rose,
He shivered from toe to the crown;
His hair stood like heath on the mountain that grows,
And each hair had a life of its own.
“O thou most”—But whereto his passion had flown
No man to this day can declare,
For his dame, with a frown, laid her hand on his mouth,
That hand once as sweet as the breeze of the south;
That hand that gave pleasures and honours and routh;
And she said, with a dignified air:—
He shivered from toe to the crown;
His hair stood like heath on the mountain that grows,
And each hair had a life of its own.
“O thou most”—But whereto his passion had flown
No man to this day can declare,
For his dame, with a frown, laid her hand on his mouth,
That hand once as sweet as the breeze of the south;
That hand that gave pleasures and honours and routh;
And she said, with a dignified air:—
“Peace, booby! if life thou regardest, beware;
I have had some fair husbands ere now;
They wooed, and they flattered, they sighed and they sware,
At length they grew irksome like you.
Come hither one moment, a sight I will show
That will teach thee some breeding and grace.”
She opened a door, and there Connel beheld
A sight that to trembling his spirit impelled;
A man standing chained, who nor 'plained, nor rebelled,
And that man had a sorrowful face.
I have had some fair husbands ere now;
They wooed, and they flattered, they sighed and they sware,
At length they grew irksome like you.
Come hither one moment, a sight I will show
That will teach thee some breeding and grace.”
She opened a door, and there Connel beheld
A sight that to trembling his spirit impelled;
A man standing chained, who nor 'plained, nor rebelled,
And that man had a sorrowful face.
Down creaked a trap-door, on which he was placed,
Right softly and slowly it fell;
And the man seemed in terror, and strangely amazed,
But why, Connel could not then tell.
He sunk and he sunk as the vice did impel;
At length, as far downward he drew,
Good Lord! In a trice, with the pull of a string,
A pair of dread shears, like the thunderbolt's wing,
Came snap on his neck, with a terrible spring,
And severed it neatly in two.
Right softly and slowly it fell;
And the man seemed in terror, and strangely amazed,
But why, Connel could not then tell.
He sunk and he sunk as the vice did impel;
At length, as far downward he drew,
Good Lord! In a trice, with the pull of a string,
A pair of dread shears, like the thunderbolt's wing,
Came snap on his neck, with a terrible spring,
And severed it neatly in two.
Adown fell the body—the head lay in sight,
The lips in a moment grew wan;
The temple just quivered, the eye it grew white,
And upward the purple threads span.
The dark crooked streamlets along the boards ran,
Thin pipings of reek could be seen;
Poor Connel was blinded, his lugs how they sung!
He looked once again, and he saw like the tongue,
That motionless out 'twixt the livid lips hung,
Then mirkness set over his e'en.
The lips in a moment grew wan;
The temple just quivered, the eye it grew white,
And upward the purple threads span.
The dark crooked streamlets along the boards ran,
Thin pipings of reek could be seen;
Poor Connel was blinded, his lugs how they sung!
He looked once again, and he saw like the tongue,
That motionless out 'twixt the livid lips hung,
Then mirkness set over his e'en.
He turned and he dashed his fair lady aside;
And off like the lightning he broke,
By staircase and gallery, with horrified stride;
He turned not, he staid not, nor spoke;
The iron-spiked court-gate he could not unlock,
His haste was beyond that of man;
He stopped not to rap, and he staid not to call,
With ram-race he cleared at a bensil the wall,
And headlong beyond got a grievous fall,
But he rose, and he ran, and he ran!
And off like the lightning he broke,
By staircase and gallery, with horrified stride;
He turned not, he staid not, nor spoke;
The iron-spiked court-gate he could not unlock,
His haste was beyond that of man;
He stopped not to rap, and he staid not to call,
With ram-race he cleared at a bensil the wall,
And headlong beyond got a grievous fall,
But he rose, and he ran, and he ran!
As stag of the forest, when fraudfully coiled,
And mured up in barn for a prey,
Sees his dappled comrades dishonoured and soiled
In their blood, on some festival day,
Bursts all intervention, and hies him away,
Like the wind over holt, over lea;
So Connel pressed on, all encumbrance he threw,
Over height, over hollow, he lessened to view:
It may not be said that he ran, for he flew,
Straight on for the hills of the Dee.
And mured up in barn for a prey,
Sees his dappled comrades dishonoured and soiled
In their blood, on some festival day,
Bursts all intervention, and hies him away,
Like the wind over holt, over lea;
So Connel pressed on, all encumbrance he threw,
Over height, over hollow, he lessened to view:
It may not be said that he ran, for he flew,
Straight on for the hills of the Dee.
The contrair of all other runners in life,
His swiftness increased as he flew,
But be it remembered, he ran from a wife,
And a trap-door that sunk on a screw.
His prowess he felt and decidedly knew,
So much did his swiftness excel,
That he skimmed the wild paths like a thing of the mind,
And the stour from each footstep was seen on the wind,
Distinct by itself for a furlong behind,
Before that it mingled or fell.
His swiftness increased as he flew,
But be it remembered, he ran from a wife,
And a trap-door that sunk on a screw.
His prowess he felt and decidedly knew,
So much did his swiftness excel,
That he skimmed the wild paths like a thing of the mind,
And the stour from each footstep was seen on the wind,
Distinct by itself for a furlong behind,
Before that it mingled or fell.
He came to a hill, the ascent it was steep,
And much did he fear for his breath;
He halted, he ventured behind him to peep,—
The sight was a vision of death!
His wife and her paramours came on the path,
Well mounted, with devilish speed;
O Connel, poor Connel, thy hope is a wreck!
Sir, run for thy life, without stumble or check,
It is thy only stake, the last chance for thy neck,—
Strain Connel, or death is thy meed!
And much did he fear for his breath;
He halted, he ventured behind him to peep,—
The sight was a vision of death!
His wife and her paramours came on the path,
Well mounted, with devilish speed;
O Connel, poor Connel, thy hope is a wreck!
Sir, run for thy life, without stumble or check,
It is thy only stake, the last chance for thy neck,—
Strain Connel, or death is thy meed!
Oh wend to the right, to the woodland betake;
Gain that, and yet safe thou may'st be;
How fast they are gaining! Oh stretch to the brake!
Poor Connel, 'tis over with thee!
In the breath of the horses his yellow locks flee,
The voice of his wife's in the van;
Even that was not needful to heighten his fears,
He sprang o'er the bushes, he dash'd thro' the briers,
For he thought of the trap-door and damnable shears,
And he cried to his God, and he ran.
Gain that, and yet safe thou may'st be;
How fast they are gaining! Oh stretch to the brake!
Poor Connel, 'tis over with thee!
In the breath of the horses his yellow locks flee,
The voice of his wife's in the van;
290
He sprang o'er the bushes, he dash'd thro' the briers,
For he thought of the trap-door and damnable shears,
And he cried to his God, and he ran.
Through gallwood and bramble he floundered amain,
No bar his advancement could stay;
Though heels-over-head whirled again and again,
Still faster he gained on his way.
This moment on swinging bough powerless he lay,
The next he was flying along
So lightly, he scarce made the green leaf to quake;
Impetuous he splashed through the bog and the lake,
He rainbowed the hawthorn, he needled the brake,
With power supernaturally strong.
No bar his advancement could stay;
Though heels-over-head whirled again and again,
Still faster he gained on his way.
This moment on swinging bough powerless he lay,
The next he was flying along
So lightly, he scarce made the green leaf to quake;
Impetuous he splashed through the bog and the lake,
He rainbowed the hawthorn, he needled the brake,
With power supernaturally strong.
The riders are foiled, and far lagging behind,
Poor Connel has leisure to pray;
He hears their dread voices around on the wind,
Still farther and farther away—
“O Thou who sit'st thron'd o'er the fields of the day,
Have pity this once upon me!
Deliver from those that are hunting my life,
From traps of the wicked that round me are rife,
And oh, above all, from the rage of a wife,
And guide to the hills of the Dee!
Poor Connel has leisure to pray;
He hears their dread voices around on the wind,
Still farther and farther away—
“O Thou who sit'st thron'd o'er the fields of the day,
Have pity this once upon me!
Deliver from those that are hunting my life,
From traps of the wicked that round me are rife,
And oh, above all, from the rage of a wife,
And guide to the hills of the Dee!
“And if ever I grumble at Providence more,
Or scorn my own mountains of heath;
If ever I yearn for that sin-breeding ore,
Or shape to complaining a breath,
Then may I be nipt with the scissors of death”—
No farther could Connel proceed:
He thought of the snap that he saw in the nook;
Of the tongue that came out, and the temple that shook,
Of the blood and the reek, and the deadening look:
He lifted his bonnet and fled.
Or scorn my own mountains of heath;
If ever I yearn for that sin-breeding ore,
Or shape to complaining a breath,
Then may I be nipt with the scissors of death”—
No farther could Connel proceed:
He thought of the snap that he saw in the nook;
Of the tongue that came out, and the temple that shook,
Of the blood and the reek, and the deadening look:
He lifted his bonnet and fled.
He wandered and wandered thro' woodlands of gloom,
And sorely he sobbed and he wept;
At cherk of the pyat, or bee's passing boom,
He started, he listened, he leaped.
With eye and with ear a strict guardship he kept;
No scene could his sorrows beguile:
At length he stood lone by the side of the Dee;
It was placid and deep, and as broad as a sea;
Oh, could he get over, how safe he might be,
And gain his own mountains the while!
And sorely he sobbed and he wept;
At cherk of the pyat, or bee's passing boom,
He started, he listened, he leaped.
With eye and with ear a strict guardship he kept;
No scene could his sorrows beguile:
At length he stood lone by the side of the Dee;
It was placid and deep, and as broad as a sea;
Oh, could he get over, how safe he might be,
And gain his own mountains the while!
'Twas dangerous to turn, but proceeding was worse,
For the country grew open and bare,
No forest appeared, neither broomwood nor gorse,
Nor furze that would shelter a hare.
Ah! could he get over how safe he might fare;
At length he resolved to try;
At worst 'twas but drowning, and what was a life
Compared to confinement in sin and in strife,
Beside a trap-door and a scandalous wife?
'Twas nothing—he'd swim, or he'd die.
For the country grew open and bare,
No forest appeared, neither broomwood nor gorse,
Nor furze that would shelter a hare.
Ah! could he get over how safe he might fare;
At length he resolved to try;
At worst 'twas but drowning, and what was a life
Compared to confinement in sin and in strife,
Beside a trap-door and a scandalous wife?
'Twas nothing—he'd swim, or he'd die.
Ah! he could not swim, and was loath to resign
This life for a world unknown;
For he had been sinning, and misery condign
Would sure be his portion alone.
How sweetly the sun on the green mountain shone;
And the flocks they were resting in peace,
Or bleating along on each parallel path:
The lambs they were skipping on fringe of the heath—
How different might kythe the lone valleys of death,
And cheerfulness evermore cease?
This life for a world unknown;
For he had been sinning, and misery condign
Would sure be his portion alone.
How sweetly the sun on the green mountain shone;
And the flocks they were resting in peace,
Or bleating along on each parallel path:
The lambs they were skipping on fringe of the heath—
How different might kythe the lone valleys of death,
And cheerfulness evermore cease?
All wistful he stood on the brink of the pool,
And dropt on its surface the tear;
He started at something that boded him dool,
And his mouth fell wide open with fear.
The trample of gallopers fell on his ear;
One look was too much for his eye;
For there was his wife, and her paramours twain,
With whip and with spur coming over the plain;
Bent forward, revengeful, they galloped amain,
They hasten, they quicken, they fly!
And dropt on its surface the tear;
He started at something that boded him dool,
And his mouth fell wide open with fear.
The trample of gallopers fell on his ear;
One look was too much for his eye;
For there was his wife, and her paramours twain,
With whip and with spur coming over the plain;
Bent forward, revengeful, they galloped amain,
They hasten, they quicken, they fly!
Short time was there now to deliberate, I ween,
And shortly did Connel decree;
He shut up his mouth, and he closed his een,
And he pointed his arms like a V,
And like a scared otter, he dived in the Dee,
His heels pointed up to the sky;
Like bolt from the firmament downward he bears;
The still liquid element startled uprears,
It bubbled, and bullered, and roared in his ears,
Like thunder that bellows on high.
And shortly did Connel decree;
He shut up his mouth, and he closed his een,
And he pointed his arms like a V,
And like a scared otter, he dived in the Dee,
His heels pointed up to the sky;
Like bolt from the firmament downward he bears;
The still liquid element startled uprears,
It bubbled, and bullered, and roared in his ears,
Like thunder that bellows on high.
He soon found the symptoms of drowning begin,
And painful the feeling be sure,
For his breath it gaed out, and the water gaed in.
With drumble and mudwart impure;
It was most unpleasant, and hard to endure,
And he struggled its inroads to wear;
But it rushed by his mouth, and it rushed by his nose,
His joints grew benumbed, all his fingers and toes,
And his een turned they neither would open nor close,
And he found his departure was near.
And painful the feeling be sure,
For his breath it gaed out, and the water gaed in.
With drumble and mudwart impure;
It was most unpleasant, and hard to endure,
And he struggled its inroads to wear;
But it rushed by his mouth, and it rushed by his nose,
His joints grew benumbed, all his fingers and toes,
And his een turned they neither would open nor close,
And he found his departure was near.
One time he came up, like a porpoise, above,
He breathed and he lifted his eye,
It was the last glance of the land of his love,
Of the world, and the beautiful sky:
How bright looked the sun from his window on high,
Through furs of the light golden grain!
Oh, Connel was sad, but he thought with a sigh,
That far above yon peaceful vales of the sky,
In bowers of the morning he shortly might lie,
Though very unlike it just then.
He breathed and he lifted his eye,
It was the last glance of the land of his love,
Of the world, and the beautiful sky:
How bright looked the sun from his window on high,
Through furs of the light golden grain!
Oh, Connel was sad, but he thought with a sigh,
That far above yon peaceful vales of the sky,
In bowers of the morning he shortly might lie,
Though very unlike it just then.
He sunk to the bottom, no more he arose,
The waters for ever his body inclose;
The horse-mussel clasped on his fingers and toes,
All passive he suffered the scathe.
But oh, there was one thing his heart could not brook.
Even in his last struggles his spirit it shook;
The eels, with their cursed equivocal look,
Redoubled the horrors of death.
Oh, aye since the time that he was but a bairn,
When catching his trouts in the Cluny or Gairn,
At sight of an eel he would shudder and darn!
It almost deprived him of breath.
The waters for ever his body inclose;
The horse-mussel clasped on his fingers and toes,
All passive he suffered the scathe.
But oh, there was one thing his heart could not brook.
Even in his last struggles his spirit it shook;
The eels, with their cursed equivocal look,
Redoubled the horrors of death.
291
When catching his trouts in the Cluny or Gairn,
At sight of an eel he would shudder and darn!
It almost deprived him of breath.
He died, but he found that he never would be
So dead to all feeling and smart,
No, not though his flesh were consumed in the Dee,
But that eels would some horror impart.
With all other fishes he yielded to mart,
Resistance became not the dead;
The minnow, with gushet sae gowden and braw,
The siller-ribbed perch, and the indolent craw,
And the ravenous ged, with his teeth like a saw,
Came all on poor Connel to feed.
So dead to all feeling and smart,
No, not though his flesh were consumed in the Dee,
But that eels would some horror impart.
With all other fishes he yielded to mart,
Resistance became not the dead;
The minnow, with gushet sae gowden and braw,
The siller-ribbed perch, and the indolent craw,
And the ravenous ged, with his teeth like a saw,
Came all on poor Connel to feed.
They rave and they rugged, he cared not a speal,
Though they preyed on his vitals alone;
But, Lord! when he felt the cold nose of an eel,
A quaking seized every bone;
Their slid slimy forms lay his bosom upon,
His mouth that was ope, they came near;
They guddled his loins, and they bored thro' his side,
They warped all his bowels about on the tide.
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
Though they preyed on his vitals alone;
But, Lord! when he felt the cold nose of an eel,
A quaking seized every bone;
Their slid slimy forms lay his bosom upon,
His mouth that was ope, they came near;
They guddled his loins, and they bored thro' his side,
They warped all his bowels about on the tide.
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
Young Connel was missed, and his mother was sad,
But his sisters consoled her mind;
And said, he was wooing some favourite maid,
For Connel was amorous and kind.
Ah! little weened they that their Connel reclined
On a couch that was loathful to see!
'Twas mud—and the water-bells o'er him did heave;
The lampreys passed through him without law or leave,
And windowed his frame like a riddle or sieve,
Afar in the deeps of the Dee!
But his sisters consoled her mind;
And said, he was wooing some favourite maid,
For Connel was amorous and kind.
Ah! little weened they that their Connel reclined
On a couch that was loathful to see!
'Twas mud—and the water-bells o'er him did heave;
The lampreys passed through him without law or leave,
And windowed his frame like a riddle or sieve,
Afar in the deeps of the Dee!
It was but a night, and a midsummer night,
And next morning when rose the red sun,
His sisters in haste their fair bodies bedight,
And, ere the day's work was begun,
They sought for their Connel, for they were undone
If aught should their brother befall:
And first they went straight to the bower in the deane,
For there he of late had been frequently seen;
For nature he loved, and her evening scene
To him was the dearest of all.
And next morning when rose the red sun,
His sisters in haste their fair bodies bedight,
And, ere the day's work was begun,
They sought for their Connel, for they were undone
If aught should their brother befall:
And first they went straight to the bower in the deane,
For there he of late had been frequently seen;
For nature he loved, and her evening scene
To him was the dearest of all.
And when within view of his bourack they came,
It lay in the skaddow so still,
They lift up their voices and called his name,
And their forms they shone white on the hill;
When, trow you, that hallo so erlisch and shrill
Arose from those maids on the heath?
It was just as poor Connel most poignant did feel,
As reptiles he loved not of him made a meal,
Just when the misleered and unmannerly eel
Waked him from the slumbers of death.
It lay in the skaddow so still,
They lift up their voices and called his name,
And their forms they shone white on the hill;
When, trow you, that hallo so erlisch and shrill
Arose from those maids on the heath?
It was just as poor Connel most poignant did feel,
As reptiles he loved not of him made a meal,
Just when the misleered and unmannerly eel
Waked him from the slumbers of death.
He opened his eyes, and with wonder beheld
The sky and the hills once again;
But still he was haunted, for over the field
Two females came running amain.
No form but his spouse's remained on his brain;
His sisters to see him were glad;
But he started bolt upright in horror and fear,
He deemed that his wife and her minions were near,
He flung off his plaid, and he fled like a deer,
And they thought their poor brother was mad.
The sky and the hills once again;
But still he was haunted, for over the field
Two females came running amain.
No form but his spouse's remained on his brain;
His sisters to see him were glad;
But he started bolt upright in horror and fear,
He deemed that his wife and her minions were near,
He flung off his plaid, and he fled like a deer,
And they thought their poor brother was mad.
He 'scaped; but he halted on top of the rock;
And his wonder and pleasure still grew;
For his clothes were not wet, and his skin was unbroke,
But he scarce could believe it was true
That no eels were within; and too strictly he knew
He was married and buckled for life.
It could not be a dream; for he slept and awoke;
Was drunken, and sober; had sung, and had spoke;
For months and for days he had dragged in the yoke
With an unconscientious wife.
And his wonder and pleasure still grew;
For his clothes were not wet, and his skin was unbroke,
But he scarce could believe it was true
That no eels were within; and too strictly he knew
He was married and buckled for life.
It could not be a dream; for he slept and awoke;
Was drunken, and sober; had sung, and had spoke;
For months and for days he had dragged in the yoke
With an unconscientious wife.
However it was, he was sure he was there,
On his own native cliffs of the Dee:
Oh never before looked a morning so fair,
Or the sun-beam so sweet on the lea!
The song of the merl from her old hawthorn tree,
And the blackbird's melodious lay,
All sounded to him like an anthem of love;
A song that the spirit of nature did move;
A kind little hymn to their Maker above,
Who gave them the beauties of day.
On his own native cliffs of the Dee:
Oh never before looked a morning so fair,
Or the sun-beam so sweet on the lea!
The song of the merl from her old hawthorn tree,
And the blackbird's melodious lay,
All sounded to him like an anthem of love;
A song that the spirit of nature did move;
A kind little hymn to their Maker above,
Who gave them the beauties of day.
So deep the impression was stamped on his brain;
The image was never defaced;
Whene'er he saw riders that galloped amain,
He darned in some bush till they passed.
At kirk or at market sharp glances he cast,
Lest haply his wife might be there;
And once, when the liquor had kindled his e'e,
It never was known who or what he did see,
But he made a miraculous flight from Dundee,
The moment he entered the fair.
The image was never defaced;
Whene'er he saw riders that galloped amain,
He darned in some bush till they passed.
At kirk or at market sharp glances he cast,
Lest haply his wife might be there;
And once, when the liquor had kindled his e'e,
It never was known who or what he did see,
But he made a miraculous flight from Dundee,
The moment he entered the fair.
But never again was his bosom estranged
From his simple and primitive fare;
No longer his wishes or appetite ranged
With the gay and voluptuous to share.
He viewed every luxury of life as a snare:
He drank of his pure mountain spring;
He watched all the flowers of the wild as they sprung;
He blest his sweet laverock, like fairy that sung,
Aloft on the hem of the morning cloud hung,
Light fanning its down with her wing.
From his simple and primitive fare;
No longer his wishes or appetite ranged
With the gay and voluptuous to share.
He viewed every luxury of life as a snare:
He drank of his pure mountain spring;
He watched all the flowers of the wild as they sprung;
He blest his sweet laverock, like fairy that sung,
Aloft on the hem of the morning cloud hung,
Light fanning its down with her wing.
And oft on the shelve of the rock he reclined,
Light carolling humorsome rhyme,
Of his midsummer dream, of his feelings refined,
Or some song of the good olden time.
And even in age was his spirit in prime,
Still reverenced on Dee is his name;
His wishes were few, his enjoyments were rife,
He loved and he cherished each thing that had life,
With two small exceptions, an eel and a wife,
Whose commerce he dreaded the same.
Light carolling humorsome rhyme,
Of his midsummer dream, of his feelings refined,
Or some song of the good olden time.
And even in age was his spirit in prime,
Still reverenced on Dee is his name;
His wishes were few, his enjoyments were rife,
He loved and he cherished each thing that had life,
With two small exceptions, an eel and a wife,
Whose commerce he dreaded the same.
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