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?”
“Oh! I’m the chief of Ulva’s Isle,
And this Lord Ullin’s daughter.
“And fast before her father’s men
Three days we’ve fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,