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And now I am come with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far—
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."
The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up,
He quaff’d off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She look’d down to blush, and she look’d up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, e’er her mother could bar,
'Now tread we a measure!' said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maiden’s whisper’d, ’twere better by far,
To have match’d our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reach’d the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They’ll have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young Lochinvar!
There was mounting ’mong Grames of the Netherby clan;
