The bride had consented--the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar!

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
Among tribesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all.
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword--
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word--
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war?--
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long wooed your daughter;--my suit you denied:
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide!
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure--drink one cup of wine.
There be 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 quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup!
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,--
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar;--
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lively 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 bridemaidens whispered, "'T were better, by far,