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Then to a rock within the hither shoal,
Softly, and with a fearful step she stole!
Then, when she gain’d it, on the top she stood
A moment still—and dropp’d into the flood!
Crabbe
LORD ULLIN’S DAUGHTER.
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.”
“Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?”
“O, I’m the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this Lord Ullin’s daughter.
“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!”
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
“I’ll go, my chief—I’m ready:—
It is not for your silver bright;
But for your winsome lady:
“And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;
So though the waves are raging white,
I’ll row you o’er the ferry.”
By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
