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 '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 story sea before her,—

When, oh! too strong for human hand,

The tempest gather'd o'er her.

And still they row'd amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,

His wrath was changed to wailing

For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade,

His child he did discover:

One lovely arm 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.

 

, a maid at fifty-five,

Was at her toilette dressing ;

Her waiting-maid, with iron hot,

Each paper'd curl was pressing.