| |
| A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, | |
| Cries, “Boatman, do not tarry! | |
| And I ’ll give thee a silver pound | |
| To row us o’er the ferry.” | |
| |
| “Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, | 5 |
| This dark and stormy water?” | |
| “O, I ’m the chief of Ulva’s isle, | |
| And this Lord Ullin’s daughter. | |
| |
| “And fast before her father’s men | |
| Three days we ’ve fled together, | 10 |
| For should he find us in the glen, | |
| My blood would stain the heather. | |
| |
| “His horsemen hard behind us ride; | |
| Should they our steps discover, | |
| Then who will cheer my bonny bride | 15 |
| When they have slain her lover?” | |
| |
| Out spoke the hardy Highland wight: | |
| “I ’ll go, my chief,—I ’m ready; | |
| It is not for your silver bright, | |
| But for your winsome lady; | 20 |
| |
| 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, | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| Adown the glen rode arméd men,— | |
| Their trampling sounded nearer. | |
| |
| “O, haste thee, haste!” the lady cries, | |
| “Though tempests round us gather; | |
| I ’ll meet the raging of the skies, | 35 |
| But not an angry father.” | |
| |
| The boat has left a stormy land, | |
| A stormy sea before her,— | |
| When, O, too strong for human hand, | |
| The tempest gathered o’er her! | 40 |
| |
| And still they rowed amidst the roar | |
| Of waters fast prevailing: | |
| Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore; | |
| His wrath was changed to wailing. | |
| |
| For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, | 45 |
| His child he did discover;— | |
| One lovely hand she stretched for aid, | |
| And one was round her lover. | |
| |
| “Come back! come back!” he cried in grief, | |
| “Across this stormy water; | 50 |
| And I ’ll forgive your Highland chief, | |
| My daughter!—O my daughter!”— | |
| |
| ’T was vain;—the loud waves lashed the shore, | |
| Return or aid preventing;— | |
| The waters wild went o’er his child, | 55 |
| And he was left lamenting. | |
| |
