Win a Meal for 2 at the Moss Trooper.
Just answer this simple question for a chance to win dinner for 2 plus a bottle of wine…
Dunham Massey Brewing Company first brewed their first batch of bitters in 2007. What was the name of either of the two bitters called?
The Closing date for entries is 29 February 2012.
Please send this completed entry form together with your contact details to:
HAAH, Caidan House, Canal Road, Timperley, WA14 1TD Or email your answer plus contact details to: competition@haahandbook.co.uk
Lord Ullin's Daughter
Thomas Campbell, 1777 - 1844 was born in Glasgow and was was the youngest son of Alexander Campbell, of the Campbells of Kirnan, Argyll. This month’s poem has been recommended to us by Patricia Nugent from Hale Barns.
A chieftain to the highland 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?’
Oh, I’m the chief of Ulver’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
My blood would stain the heather.
His horsemen hard behind us ride-
Should they our steps discover,
Who then will cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover?’
Out spoke 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, this 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 heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still as wilder grew the wind
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode arméd men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.
‘Oh, 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 the stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,-
When, Oh! too strong for human hand
The tempest gathered o’er her.
And still they row’d amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing,
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,-
His wrath was changed to wailing.
For, sore dismayed, though storm and shade His child he did discover,- One lovely hand was stretched 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!- Oh, 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.