Lochinvar
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Esk 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 boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
Among 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 I am come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.’
The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked 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 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 whispered, ‘’Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.’
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
‘She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,’ quoth young Lochinvar.
There was mounting ’mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
Translations of this Poem
Lochinvar
Translator: Ian MacDonald
Tha Lochinvar òg ’s e air nochdadh bhon iar,
Is gun aon each nas fheàrr aig neach feadh nan Crìoch;
’S gun aige ball-airm ach deagh chlaidheamh a-mhàin,
E marcachd gun armachd ’s na aonar a-ghnàth;
Cho dìleas an gaol, ’s gun an cogadh na b’ fheàrr,
Cha robh ridir’ ann mar an t-òg Lochinvar.
Doire cha d’ chuir maill air, no creag na bu mhò;
Cha robh àth air an Esk, ach shnàmh e a-null;
Ach greis mun do ràinig e Netherby thall,
A’ mhaighdeann thug gealladh, bha ’n lasgair’ air call:
Bha truaghan thaobh gaoil ’s e gun fheum ann am blàr
Dol ga phòsadh ri Eilidh ghrinn Lochinvar.
Gu dàna dhan talla gun d’ cheumnaich e steach
Measg càirdean na maighdinn, a bràithrean ’s gach neach:
Is bhruidhinn a h-athair, a chlaidheamh ri làimh
(Oir facal cha chualas on truaghan fear-bainns’):
“’N ann an cogadh no sìth a thàinig thu ’n-dràst’,
No a dhanns aig ar banais, a Thighearn’ Lochinvar?”
“B’ fhad’ mo shuirgh’ air do nighinn, ’s dhiùlt thusa mi:
Gaol ataidh mar Solway, ach traoighidh e rìs –
Is thàinig mi nis, is an gaol seo air chall,
Is òlaidh mi fìon is nì ceuman de dhanns.
Tha gruagaich an Alba nas bòidhche ’s nas àill’
Glè dheònach bhith pòst’ aig Tighearn’ òg Lochinvar.”
Phòg an nighean a’ chuach, thog esan i suas
Agus dh’òl e na bh’ innt is shad e i bhuaith’.
Bha rudhadh na gruaidh-se is osna na cliabh,
Bha gàir’ air a bilean ’s na sùilean bha deur.
Ghabh e a làmh mhìn, is a màthair fo phràmh –
“Nis nì sinn ceum danns,” ars an t-òg Lochinvar.
Cho stàiteil a chruth is cho àlainn a fiamh,
Nach fhacas an talla danns-càraid cho brèagh’;
A màthair an-fhoiseil ’s a h-athair fo mhùig,
’S fear na bainns’ le bhonaid ’s a dhos os a chionn;
’S thuirt na maighdeannan-pòsaidh, “B’ fhada na b’ fheàrr
Ar co-ogha bòidheach bhith aig Lochinvar.”
Aon bheantainn ri làimh is aon fhacal na cluais,
Ruig iad an doras, ’s gun an t-each fada bhuap’;
Gu clis air a mhuin chuir e mhaighdeann na h-àit’,
’S air a beulaibh dhan dìollaid leum e gun dàil;
“Tha i againn, a-mach leinn, thar bruaich is blàir;
Bidh eich luath às ar dèidh ac’,” dh’èigh Lochinvar.
Mu Netherbay bha marcachd aithghearr gach taobh:
Greumaich, Fosters, Fenwicks is Musgraves, na laoich;
Bha ruagadh is ruith air feadh Canonbie Lee,
Ach bean-phòst’ Netherby, chan fhacas riamh i.
Cho dàna an gaol, ’s gun an cogadh na b’ fheàrr,
Robh lasgair’ ann riamh mar an t-òg Lochinvar?
