THE ROVER.
by SIR W. SCOTT.
| Previous Poem | Next Poem |
| THE ROVER. |
|
| "A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine. A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green-- No more of me you knew, My Love! No more of me you knew. "The morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain; But she shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again." He turn'd his charger as he spake Upon the river shore, He gave the bridle-reins a shake, Said "Adieu for evermore, My Love! And adieu for evermore." |
|
| SIR W. SCOTT., THE GOLDEN TREASURY Of the best Songs and Lyrical Pieces In the English Language Selected by Francis Turner Palgrave | |
