'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.

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!'

'Come back! come back!' he cried in grief 'Across this stormy water; And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter! O my daughter!'

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, Th…