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Walter Scott - The Rover`s Adieu
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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 ye knew,   
        My Love!   
No more of me ye knew.   
  
`This 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.`
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