Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/648

 545. Answer

Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.

546. The Rover's Adieu

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.'