A Chieftain, to the highlands bound,
Cries, “Boatman, do not tarry!
And I’ll give thee a silver pound
To row us o’er the ferry!”
And fast before her father’s men
Three days we’ve fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
“His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?”
“And by my world! The bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;
So, though the waves are raging white,
I’ll row you o’er the ferry”.
“O haste thee, haste!” the lady cries,
“Though tempests round us gather;
I’ll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father”.
And still they row’d amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin reach’d that fatal shore,
His wrath was changed to wailing.
“Come back! Come back!” he cried in grief
“Across this stormy water:
And I’ll forgive your highland chief,
My daughter! — 0 my daughter!”
“Twas vain: the loud waves lash’d the shore,
Return or aid preventing:
The water wild went o’er his child,
And he was left lamenting.
THOMAS CAMPBELL
Chieftain : leader of a tribe
Ferry : boat
Heather : a wild plant
