Lochinvar
by Sir
Walter Scott
|
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 unarmed, and he rode
all alone. |
So faithful in Love, and so
dauntless in war, |
There never was knight like the
young Lochinvar.
|
He stayed not for brake, and he
stopped 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 entered 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 wooed your daughter, my
suit you denied; - |
Love swells like the Solway, but
ebbs like its tide - |
And now am I 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 kissed the goblet: the
knight took it up, |
He quaffed off the wine, and he
threw down the cup. |
She looked down to blush, and 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!' said
the young Lochinvar.
|
So stately his form and so lovely
her face, |
That never a hall such a galliard
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 whispered,
' 'Twere better by far, |
To have matched our fair cousin
with young Lochinvar.'
|
One touch to her hand, and one
word in her ear, |
When they reached the hall-door,
and 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, 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?
|
Sir Walter Scott | Classic
Poems |
|
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