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Rover - a poem by Sir Walter Scott



" 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."

Rover - a poem by Sir Walter Scott

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