3
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, e'er her mother could bar,
“Now tread we a measure !" said 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 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.
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood
near;
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
Se light to the saddle before her he sprung!
She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They'll have fleetsteeds that follow, quoth young Loch-
invar,
There was mounting 'mong Grames of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
There was racing and chacing, on Cannobie lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er aid they see,
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar.
