Item 27: Poem by Thomas Campbell titled, “O'Connor's Child or Love Lies Bleeding,” , no date

Item — Box: 8, Folder: 27

Staff Only

Item 27: Poem by Thomas Campbell titled, “O'Connor's Child or Love Lies Bleeding," no date

Dates

Created: no date

Creator

Campbell, Thomas, 1777-1844 (Person)

Access:

All series and subseries within this collection are open for research, with the exception of a few files within the Academia series that are restricted. The Academia series contains financial and sensitive institutional records from Wilkes College, and financial report records from Princeton University that will remain restricted for 80 years upon creation.

Extent

1 items

Language of Materials

From the Collection: English

Additional Description

Type of Material:

Poem.

Condition Note:

Fair, paper is very old and fragile but still in good enough shape to handle and read.

Measurements:

3 ¾ in. x 4 11/16 in.

Title:

Oconnor’s Child or Love lies bleeding

Description:

A poem by Thomas Campbell, titled, “O’Connor’s Child or Love Lies Bleeding,” date unknown. Thomas Campbell’s poem tells the story of the daughter of an Irish clan’s chief who fell in love with a man she wasn’t supposed to due to his low standing, and describes the tragedies which follow. The characters within the story seem to be based on real historic figures which lived within the provinces of Ireland used in the story. The work has been labeled as culturally significant by scholars.

Transcription:

Page 1:

Oconnor’s child or Love lies bleeding ------------- I

Oh! once the harp of Innisfail* Was strung full high to notes of gladness; But yet it often told a tale of more prevailing sadness. Sad was the note & wild its fall; As winds that moan at night, forlorn, Along the isles of Fion-gael, When, for Oconnor’s child to mourn, The harper told - how lone - how far From any mansion’s twinkling star,- From any path of social men,- Or voice but from the fox’s den, The Lady of the desert, dwelt; And yet no wrongs no fear she felt Say why should dwell in place so wild The lovely pale Oconnor’s child?-

*Ireland

Page 2:

2) II.

Sweet Lady! she no more inspires Green Erin’s hearts with beauty’s power, As in the palace of her sires, She bloom’d a peerless flower! Gone from her hand & bosom gone The regal broche, the jewell’d ring, That oer her dazzling whiteness shone, Like dews on lillies of the spring. - Yet why, though fall’n her brother’s Kerne Beneath De Bourgo’s battle stern, While yet in Lienster unexplored, Her friends survive the English sword, Why lingers she from Erin’s host, So far on Galway’s shipwreck coast Why wanders she a huntress wild, The lovely pale Oconnor’s child.

III.

And fix’d on empty space, why burn Her eyes with momentary wildness? And wherefore do they then return To more than woman’s mildness? Dishavell’d are her raven locks On Connocht Moran’s name she calls,

Page 3:

5) VI.

Oconnor’s child, I was the bud Of Erin’s royal trees of glory; But woe to them that wrapt in blood The tissue of my story! Still, as I clasp my burning brain, A death-scene rushes on my sight, I see it oer & oer again- The bloody feud - the fatal night- When chafing Connocht Moran’s scorn They call’d my hero basely born; And bade him chase a meaner bride Than from Oconnor’s house of pride. Their tribe (they said) their high degree Was sung in Tarah’s psaltery;* And he, my lov’d one, bore in field A meaner crest upon his shield.-

*Sarah’s Psaltery The great Geguilers of the ancient Irish-

VII.

Ah brothers! What did it avail That fiercely & triumphantly Ye fought the English of the pale- And stemm’d De Courcey’s chivalry-

Page 4:

6) And what was it to love & me, That barons by your standard rode? Or bel-fires for your jubilee, Upon a hundred mountains glow’d? What though the lords of towr & dome, From Shannon to the North sea foam, Thought ye your iron hands of pride Could break the knot that love had tied? No! let the eagle change his plume, The leaf its hue - the flow’r its bloom; But ties around this heart were spun, That could not - would not be undone!

VIII.

At bleating of the wild watch-fold, Thus sang my Love ~“Oh come with me! Our bark is on the lake behold! Our steeds are fasten’d to the tree! Come far from Castle-Connor’s clans! Come with thy belted forestere! And I, beside the lakes of swans, Shall hunt for thee the fallow deer;-

Page 5:

7) And build thy hut, & bring thee home The wild-fowl & the honey-comb; And berries from the woods provide, And play my darshech * by thy side, Then come my love! - How could I stay? Our nimble stag-hounds track’d the way; And I pursued, by moonless skies, The light of Connocht Moran’s eyes.-

*darshech a harp

IX

And fast & far, before the star Of day-spring, rush’d we through the glade; And saw at dawn the lofty bawn Of castle-Connor fade. Sweet was to us the hermitage Of this unplough’d, untrodden shores Like birds, all joyous from the cage, For man’s neglect we lov’d it more. And well he knew, my huntsman dear, To search the game with hawk & spear, Whilst I, his evening food to dress, Would sing to him in happiness.-

Page 6:

8) But oh that midnight of despair! When I was doom’d to rend my hair. The night to me of shrieking sorrow! The night to him that had no morrow! -

X

When all was hush’d at evening tide, I heard the baying of their beagle: Be hush’d! my Connocht Moran cried, Twas but the screaming of the eagle: Ay me! Twas not the eyrie’s sound, Their bloody hands had traced us out, Up-listning starts our couchant hound, And harp again! that 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- Anothers sword has struck him low, Another’s & another’s, And every hand that gave the blow, Alas! it was a brother’s! -

Page 7:

9) yes! when his moanings died away, Their iron hands had dug the clay, And oer his burial-turf they trod, And I beheld Oh God! Oh God! His life, blood oozing from the sod

XII.

Warm in his death - wounds sepulchred Alas! my warrior’s spirit brave For mass nor lilla-lulla * heard, Lamenting, sooth his grave. Dragg’d to their hated mansion back, How long in thraldom’s grasp I lay, I know not; for my soul was black And knew no change of night or day, One night of horror round me grew; Or if I saw, or felt, or knew, Twas but when those grim visages, The angry brothers of my race, Glared on each eyeball’s aching throb And cheek’d my bosom’s power to [illegible] Or when this heart, with pulses drear, Beat like a death-watch in mine car.-

*Note. lilla-Lulla was the name of the old Irish Camentation for the dead

Page 8:

10 XII But Heav’n at last my soul’s eclipse Did with a vision bright inspire: I woke & felt upon my lips A prophetess’s fire. Thrice in the east a war-drum beat, I heard the Saxon trumpet’s sound And ranged, as to the judgement seat, My guilty trembling brothers round.- Clad in the helm & shield they came; For now De Bourgo’s sword & flame Had ravaged Ulster’s boundaries, And lighted up the midnight skies. The standard of Oconnor’s sway Was in the turret where I lay; That standard, with so dire a look, As ghastly shone the moon & pale, I gave, that every bosom shook Beneath its iron mail. -

XIII

And go! (I cried) the combat seek, Ye hearts, that unappalled bore The anguish of a sister’s shriek, Go! and return no more! -

Page 9:

Page 13

Oconnor’s plumed partizans: Thrice ten Innisfallian clans Were marching to their doom A sudden storm their plumage toss’d, A flash of lightning oer them cross’d, And all again was gloom! But high in heavn again the bands of Thunder-spirits clapt their hands.

XVI-

Stranger! I fled the home of grief, At Connocht Moran’s tomb to fall; I found the helmet of my chief, His bow still hanging on our wall: And took it down & vow’d to rove This desert wild, an huntress bold; Nor would I change my buried love For any heart of living mould. yes for I am a hero’s child I’ll hunt my quarry on the wild;

Page 10:

14 And still this home my mansion make, Of all unheeded & unheeding; And nourish [cherish written above], for my warrior’s sake The flow’r of love lies bleeding!-

Notes Verse IIII. Uncle - “And stemm’d De Bourgo’s chivalry”- The House of Oconnor had a right to boast of their victories over the English- particularly over Walter De Bourgo an an: -cestor of the warrior of the same name all: -uded to in the preceding poem who won the battle of Amunree - When Walter de Bourgo had become so insolent as to make extensive demands upon the territories of Connaught and to bid defiance to all the nights & proper= ties reserved by the Irish chiefs Aeth 0= connor a near descendant of the famous Cathal, surnamed of the bloody hand, rose