The Elocutionist (1815-1830)/Flight of O'Connor's Child and Death of her Lover
FLIGHT OF O'CONNOR'S CHILD AND DEATH OF HER LOVER.
'At bleeting of the wild watch fold
Thus sang my love—'Oh, come with me!
Our bark is on the lake—behold
Our steeds are fastened to the tree.
Come far from Castle-Connor's clans!
Come with thy belted forestere,
And I beside the lake of swans,
Shall hunt for thee the fallow deer;
And build thy hut, and bring thee home
The wild fowl and the honey-comb
And berries from the wood provide,
And play my clarshech by thy side—
Then come, my love!'—How could I stay?
Our nimble stag hounds tracked the way,
And I pursued by moonless skies,
The light of Connocht, Moran's eyes!
And fast and far, before the star
Of day-spring, rushed we through the glade,
And saw at dawn the lofty bawn
Of Castle-Connor fade.
Sweet was to us the hermitage
Of this unploughed, untrodden shore;
Like birds all joyou from the cage.
For man's neglect we loved it more!
And well he knew, my huntsman dear,
To search the game with hawk and spear;
While I, his evening foot to dress,
Would sing to him in happiness!
But oh! that midnight of dispair,
When I was doomed to rend my hair
The night to me of shrieking sorrow!
The night to him—that had no morrow!
When all was hushed at even tide,
I heard the baying of their beagle;
Be hushed, my Connocht, Moran cried,
'Tis but the screaming of the eagle—
Alas; 'twas not eyrie's sound
Their bloody hands had traced us out:
Up-listering starts our couchant hound—
And, hark; the nearer shout
Brings faster on the murderers.
Spare—spare him—Brazil—Desmond fierce:
In vain—no voice the adder charms:
Their weapons cross'd my sheltering arms;
Another's sword has laid him low—
Another's and another's;
And every hand that dealt a blow—
Ah me, it was a brother's:
Yes, when his meanings died away.
Their iron hands had dug the clay,
And o'er his burial turf they trod,
And I beheld—-O God; O God;
His life-blood oozing from the sod.
FINIS