C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Lord Ullin’s Daughter
By Thomas Campbell (1777–1844)
A
Cries, “Boatman, do not tarry!
And I’ll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o’er the ferry.”
This dark and stormy water?”
“O, I’m the chief of Ulva’s isle,
And this Lord Ullin’s daughter.
Three days we’ve fled together;
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?”
“I’ll go, my chief—I’m ready;—
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady:
In danger shall not tarry;
So though the waves are raging white,
I’ll row you o’er the ferry.”
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armèd men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.
“Though tempests round us gather,
I’ll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father.”
A stormy sea before her,
When, oh! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o’er her.
Of waters fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore;
His wrath was changed to wailing.
His child he did discover:
One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
And one was round her lover.
“Across this stormy water:
And I’ll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter!—oh, my daughter!”
Return or aid preventing:—
The waters wild went o’er his child,
And he was left lamenting.