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 '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.

'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 would 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 арасе,

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.--