Or e’en that lovely scenery
(Ere Bouchier sign’d that dread decree)
Which gladden’d oftentimes my soul?—
Or when I lifted friendship’s bowl,
With my comrades down the glen,
Ere and after we were men;
Whilst the shrill trumpet, or the drum,
Desired the wanderers to come
To join the merry roundelay—
To make the most of the blithe day—