A Chieftain, to the Highlands bound,
  Cries, “Boatman, do not tarry!
And I ’ll give thee a silver pound,
  To row us o’er the ferry.”

“Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
  This dark and stormy water?”
“O, I ’m the chief of Ulva’s isle,
  And this Lord Ullin’s daughter.

“And fast before her father’s men
  Three days...