8
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,
'Mong 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,
“Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal? young Lord Lochinvar.”
“I long woo'd 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 be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.
The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up,
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup!
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd 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 young Lord 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 whisper'd, “'Twere better by far,
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar!
