Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/671

 SIR WALTER SCOTT

Stop thine ear against the singer; From the red gold keep thy finger; Vacant heart and hand and eye, Easy live and quiet die.

��559 The Rover's Adieu

AWEARY 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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