A Chieftan 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?'
'Oh! 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?'

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

'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

But still, as wilder blew the wind
And as the night grew drearer
Adown the glen rode armed men-
Their trampling sounded nearer

'Oh! 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
A stormy sea before her-
When oh! Too strong for human hand
The tempest gathered o'er her

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing;
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore-
His wrath was chang'd 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