'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.

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

Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked-as Kosciusko fell!

'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.