The sire gave brooch and jewel
fine,
Where the sun
shines fair on Carlisle wall;
Her brother gave but a flask
of wine,
For ire that Love
was lord of all.
For she had lands, both meadow
and lea,
Where the sun
shines fair on Carlisle wall,
And he swore her death, ere
he would see
A Scottish knight
the lord of all.
That wine she had not tasted
well
(The sun shines
fair on Carlisle wall),
When dead in her true love’s
arms she fell,
For Love was still
the lord of all.
He pierced her brother to
the heart,
Where the sun
shines fair on Carlisle wall—
So perish all would true love
part,
That Love may
still be lord of all!
And then he took the cross
divine
(Where the sun
shines fair on Carlisle wall),
And died for her sake in Palestine,
So Love was still
the lord of all.
Now all ye lovers, that faithful
prove,
(The sun shines
fair on Carlisle wall)
Pray for their souls who died
for love,
For Love shall
still be lord of all!
[74] This song appears in the sixth canto of “The Lay of the Last Minstrel.” “It is the author’s object in these songs,” writes Lord Jeffrey, “to exemplify the different styles of ballad-narrative which prevailed in this island at different periods, or in different conditions of society. The first (the above) is conducted upon the rude and simple model of the old border ditties, and produces its effect by the direct and concise narrative of a tragical occurrence.”
LOCHINVAR.[75]
Oh, young Lochinvar is come
out of the west,
Through all the wide border
his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword
he weapons had none,
He rode all unarm’d,
and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so
dauntless in war,
There never was knight like
the young Lochinvar.
He stay’d not for brake,
and he stopp’d not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where
ford there was none;
But ere he alighted at Netherby
gate,
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 enter’d
the Netherby Hall,
Among bridesmen, 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)
“Oh, come ye in peace
here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal,
young Lord Lochinvar?”
“I long woo’d
your daughter, my suit you denied;—
Love swells like the Solway,
but ebbs like its tide—
And now am I 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.”