ndante con Anima.

tar-ry!

To row us o'er the fer-ry.'- 'Now

water!' 'O!

I'm the chief of Ul-va's isle, And

'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 will 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 apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And, in the scowl of heav'n, 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 :

this Lord Ullin's daughter.

'O! 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 stormy sea before her,
When O! 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 chang'd to wailing.
For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover:-

One lovely hand 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!-O! 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.

Vivace.

were na com-in' to me, And At kirk or at market, when'er ye meet me, Gang by me as though that ye car'd na a flie; But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black ee, Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.

O! whistle, &c.

come as ye were na com-in' to me.

Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me,
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;
But court na anither, though jokin' ye be,
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.
O! whistle, &c.

Andantino.

My soul's self drank

The sounds which sank

From your lips in tone so sweet, love;

And that eye of light

Grew still more bright,

As the lay caus'd our looks to meet, love!

Those eyes are shut,
Those lips are mute,

That voice for ever is flown, love ;-
O! never again

Let me hear the strain, Which I used to call my own, love!

Moderato.