LOCHINVAR Oh, young Lochinvar has come out of the west Through all the wide border his steed was the best And save his good broadsword he weapon had none He rode all unarmed, he rode all alone So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war There never was a knight like the young Lochivar He stayed not for break, and he stopped not for stone He swam the Esk River where ford there was none But ere he alighted the 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 the young Lochinvar So boldly he entered the Netherby hall 'mong bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and all Then spake the brides 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 wooed your daughter, my suit you denied Love swells like the Sollaway, but ebbs like its tide Now I have 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, Who would gladly be wed to the young Lochinvar" The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up He quaffed off the wine and threw down the cup She looked down to blush, she looked 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," saith the young Lochinvar So stately his form, so lovely her face There ne'er in that hall such a gallard did grace While her mother did fret, and her father did fume And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume And the bridesmaidens whispered, "'twere better by far To 've matched our fair cousin with the Lord Lochinvar" One touch to her hand and one word in her ear When they reached the hall door the charger stood near So light to the croup the fair lady he swung So light to the saddle before her he sprung "She is won. We are gone o'er bank, bush and scar They'll have fleet steed that follow," quoth young Lochinvar There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan Fosters, 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 you e'er heard of gallant like the young Lochinvar? by Sir Walter Scott |