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And save his good broad-sword he weapon ⟨had⟩ none,
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone!
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was night like the young Lochinvar
He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd 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 boldy he enter'd 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—
'O 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 am I 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!
