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, '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, 'His horsemen hard behind us ride; 'Should they our steps discover, • Then who will cheer my bonny bride 'When they have slain her lover?'— Outspoke the hardy Highland wight, 'I'll go, my chief— I'm ready : It is not for your silver bright; But for your winsome lady : But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, "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.' The boat has left a stormy land, When, oh! too strong for human hand, And still they row'd amidst the roar Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore. His wrath was changed to wailing. For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade, His child he did discover : One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, And one was round her lover. 'Come back! come back!' he cried in grief, 'Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief. 'My daughter!-oh my daughter!'— 'Twas vain the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing : The waters wild went o'er his child,— And he was left lamenting. ODE ΤΟ THE MEMORY OF BURNS. SOUL of the Poet! wheresoe'er, Reclaim'd from earth, thy genius plume Her wings of immortality: Suspend thy harp in happier sphere, And with thine influence illume The gladness of our jubilee. And fly like fiends from secret spell, Discord and strife, at BURNS's name, Exorcised by his memory; For he was chief of bards that swell The heart with songs of social flame, And high delicious revelry. |