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
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,
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
When they have slain
her lover?"-
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
"I'll go, my cheif-I'm
ready:-
It is not for your silver bright;
But for your winsome
lady:
And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall
not tarry:
For 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 wilder brew the wind,
And as the night
grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men,
Their trampling
sounded nearer.
"Oh haste thee, hast!" the lady
cries
"Though tempest
round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry
father."-
The boat had left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before
her,-
When, oh! too strong for human
hand,
The waters gathered
o'er her.-
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,
His child he did
discover:-
One lovely hand stretched out
for aid,
And one was round
her lover.
"Come back! come back!" he cried
in grief,
"Across this stormy
water:
And I'll forgive your Highland
chief,
My daughter!-oh,
my daughter!"-
'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed
the shore,
Return or aid preventing:-
And the waters went wild o'er
his child,
And he was left
lamenting.