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O 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 none,
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 staid not for brake, and he
stopp'd not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where
ford there was none;
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,
Among bride's-men, and
kinsmen, and brothers and all:
Then spoke the
bride's father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor
craven bridegroom said never a word,)
"O 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 I am
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 Lochinvar."
The bride kiss'd
the goblet: the knight took it up,
He quaff'd off the
wine, and he threw down the cup.
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 gailiard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and
her father did fume
And the bridegroom stood dangling
his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens 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 Graemes 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 Lochinvar?
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