William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909.
Song: ‘A weary lot is thine, fair maid’Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832)
A
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.
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 his bridle-reins a shake,
Said ‘Adieu for evermore,
My Love!
And adieu for evermore.’