Photo credit to Cas Holmes on Unsplash.
Lochinvar: A Poem Turned Short-Story
Recently in an English class I've been taking, my teacher had us write a paper on the poem Lochinvar by Sir Walter Scott. And I, being the fanatic writer I am, had decided to turn the poem into a short story before class was out.
While certainly not my best work, this was a fun piece to write, and I hope you enjoy it.
Lochinvar - by Sir Walter Scott
O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.
He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone,
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied; --
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide --
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, --
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whisper'd, "'twere better by far
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
The Short Story - E. G. Runyan
Lochinvar sighed, staring dolefully at the hills around him. It was a cloudy day with thick haar* in the air, and the harsh Scottish winds were enough to make him shiver in his chain mail. He had been riding days in the saddle, and he was starting to doubt his cause. What would Ellen say? What did she think of him? How did she feel about him being gone for so long?
The thought was enough to make him straighten in the saddle. He urged his destrier on, and tried to push the frightening thoughts out of his head. No matter what, he had to find a way to make her understand.
The sound of rushing water suddenly met Lochinvar’s ears, and his mount turned towards the sound, plodding onward into the fog. Lochinvar let the reins go slack. It would be good for the beast to have a rest.
When the fog cleared and they came to a river, the horse lowered his neck and began to drink. Lochinvar slid off of the steed’s back and stepped up to the water, staring down at his reflection. His long fair hair was matted and tangled, and his thin clean-shaven face smeared with dust. Kneeling, he cupped icy river water in his hands and splashed his cheeks, wiping the dirt from them. Then he wet his hair, trying to comb it with his fingers. He may as well try to make a good impression. After all, it had been so long…
“Mornin’.”
Lochinvar started, almost tipping forward into the river. He turned to see a young commoner of about fourteen smiling at him.
“Are yeh goin’ to the wedding?” the lad asked, nodding at Lochinvar’s horse.
“Wedding?” Lochinvar asked, straightening up and wiping his hands on his tunic. “What wedding?”
“Why, the wedding up at Netherby. The Lady Ellen is gettin’ married today.”
“Lady Ellen…” Lochinvar’s heart plummeted in his chest.
No. Ellen, you promised. You can’t have.”
“How do you know this?” he asked the boy, trying to keep his voice steady.
“It’s been settled for many months now,” the boy said.
“What time is the wedding?” Lochinvar asked.
“I think it will happen in a few hours,” the lad said. “Yer mighty pale, sir. Are yeh ill?”
Lochinvar took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Thank you for your help.” Reaching into his saddlebag he produced a coin and tossed it to the boy. “What’s the fastest way to Netherby from here?”
“To swim the river,” the lad said, eagerly catching the coin. “Thank you. Good day, sir!”
Lochinvar stood still for a moment, thinking. There was no time to lose. He had to reach Netherby and talk to Ellen. And if swimming this river was the only way to do it…well…
Lochinvar rubbed his horse’s neck and whispered a few words in his ear before turning, and with a deep breath, diving into the river.
When Lochinvar climbed out of the river, he was shivering with cold. So much for washing his face and hair earlier. Now he was muddy and soaked to the bone, his clothes and chain mail so weighed down by water that he had trouble standing.
The wind blew some of the fog away and revealed to him the tall, imposing gates of Netherby. He remembered those gates. It had been two years since he last saw them.
Lochinvar strode up to the gates and knocked loudly.
I hope I’m not too late.
“Who goes there?” a sentry called down to him.
“It is Lord Lochinvar. I demand entry!”
“You were not invited to the wedding.”
There was a long pause in which Lochinvar waited impatiently. They both knew he would find a way in eventually, whether the sentry opened the gates or not. He heard a loud sigh.
“The gates have never stopped you from coming into Netherby, young Lord Lochinvar. Enter.”
The gates opened with a clang, and Lochinvar darted through.
I’m coming, Ellen.
Netherby Hall rose tall and imposing, its doors deeply engraved with imagery and time. With a deep breath, Lochinvar pushed them wide open, and strode inside.
The room was full of family members and friends. Elaborate hangings decorated the walls and golden candelabras graced the ceiling. As soon as Lochinvar stepped inside, the talking died, and a heavy silence filled the room. Everyone stared at the dripping wet, muddy young man.
Lochinvar ignored them, looking around the room for Ellen. He found her dressed in white, standing beside the man who must soon be her husband. Examining the man with a critical eye, Lochinvar could not find anything to admire. He was thin, sickly, and at the sight of Lochinvar his face had paled. It looked as though he had arrived right before the ceremony.
Lochinvar turned his gaze back to Ellen, who had caught sight of him. Her hand had flown to her mouth, and her clear blue eyes gazed at him with something he couldn’t distinguish. Was it happiness? Anger? Confusion? Or even all three?
Before he realized what he was doing, Lochinvar had stepped towards her.
A sudden voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Have you come in peace, war, or to dance at my fair daughter’s wedding, Lochinvar?”
Lochinvar turned to see Ellen’s Father, his hand on his sword hilt and his beard quivering in indignation. Knowing that the only way to intimidate the angry lord was to act overly confident, Lochinvar stood proudly and lifted his chin, ignoring the fact that his shirt was smeared with mud and that his tunic was dripping water onto the clean floor.
“I’ve long loved your daughter, but you’ve always denied me of my love. I have now come to reclaim what was mine,” he glanced at Ellen as he said the words, but her face was impassive. “There are many fair maids more lovely by far who would gladly wed me. I demand a chance at Ellen’s hand.” He bit his tongue at the lie, hoping that Ellen would forgive him later.
Before he could continue speaking, he suddenly felt a hand on his arm. Turning, he saw Ellen, proffering a goblet of wine. She kissed it, and held it out to him.
“You must be thirsty after your journey,” she said quietly, loud enough for only him to hear.
Taking the goblet from her, Lochinvar drank it in a gulp and threw it at his feet. From the quirk of Ellen’s lips, he could tell she was trying not to laugh at his boastful facade. He caught her eye and smiled reassuringly. She blushed, and gave a small sigh. Impulsively, Lochinvar took her hand.
“A dance with the fair bride,” he said loudly, nodding to the musicians. “That is all I ask.”
As the music began and he pulled Ellen into the dance, he leaned in close and whispered, “I’m sorry it took me so long, Ellie. Can you ever forgive me?”
Ellen’s lips quivered slightly. “I can, and I have.” She smiled bravely up at him. “I never forgot you. Never.”
Lochinvar could only grin back at her. He felt beyond words.
“Dance to the door,” he whispered. She nodded.
Glancing around the room, Lochinvar saw her parents glaring at him and the bridesmaids whispering amongst themselves. Everyone else, including the terrified bridegroom, watched in silence.
When they had made their way to the door, Lochinvar suddenly stepped out of the dance. He grabbed Ellen’s hand and yanked her out the double doors. Pulling her with him, they ran through the courtyard.
“Open the gates!” Ellen called. Lochinvar could hear the hall erupt behind them, and the sound of footsteps as people moved to come after the runaways.
The gates were slowly opened, and together they stepped outside. Lochinvar’s horse was waiting for them. Lochinvar grinned at him. “Good boy!”
Turning to Ellen, he caught her up in his arms and threw her up on his steed’s back. He leapt up being her as the gates burst open once more and the crowd of wedding attendees ran out.
“I hope you know,” he whispered to her as he grabbed the reins. “I think you’re the fairest maiden in Scotland. What I said earlier was to aggravate your father.”
Ellen laughed. “Yes, I know.” She looked up at him. “I’m so glad you came back, Lochinvar.”
Lochinvar gazed down at her. “So am I, Ellie.”
Ellen glanced at her angry parents and the throngs of people running towards them. “Should we go now?”
“Good idea.” Lochinvar spurred his horse, and as they galloped away, called back to the crowd of people watching them.
“Take heart,” he said, smiling at the angry faces, “for this is the last you have seen of young Lord Lochinvar.”
*haar is the Gaelic word for fog
Aww this is so beautiful (and it has all the vibes!) I'd never read this poem, despite having read tonnes of classical stuff in English. Thank you for sharing it (and your beautiful story version!)
~ Lulu M
l was glad to read your version because it cleared up a lot of my confusion, especially about the cup of wine. Great work!
I loved this, Emma! You are so good at writing short pieces and immediately gripping the reader's attention.