"And, by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;
So, though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this, the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And, in the scowl of heaven, each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still, as wilder blew the wind,

And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men,

Their trampling sounded nearer.


Oh haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather,
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her—

When, oh, too strong for human hand,
The tempest gather'd o'er her.

And still they row'd, amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade, His child he did discover;

One lovely arm she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.



"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, Across this stormy water:

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And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter! O my daughter!"

'Twas vain the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return, or aid preventing:

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.



OH, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,Through all the wide Border his steed was the best,

And save his good broadsword he weapons had


He rode all unarm'd and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stay'd not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone,

He swam the Eske river where ford there was


But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love and a dastard in war
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby hall, 'Mong bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and


Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), "Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long woo'd your daughter,—my suit you denied ; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;

And now am I come, with this lost love of mine
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely, by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochin-

The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the wine and he threw down the




She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,

With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar:

Now tread we a measure," said young Lochinvar.


So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace,
While her mother did fret, and her father did


And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,

And the bridemaidens whisper'd, “'Twere better by far

To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near;

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and

scaur ;

They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan ;

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochin-



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