Pencil drawing by Nigel A JAMES
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 a knight like the young Lochinvar.
He stayed
not for break, 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 the
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 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
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 the 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
heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
