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