"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 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 turned his charger as he spake,
Upon the river shore; He gave his bridle-rein a shake,
Said, "Adieu for evermore, My love! And adieu for evermore."
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
When the sheep are in the fauld and the kye a' at hame,
When a' the weary world to sleep are gane,
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
While my gudeman lies sound by me.
Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;
But saving a crown, he had naething else beside.
To mak' the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea;
And the crown and the pound, they were baith for me!
He hadna been awa' a week but only twa,
When my mither she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa;
My father brak his arm—my Jamie at the sea—
And Auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.
My father couldna work,—my mither couldna spin;
I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win;
And Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e,
Said, "Jennie for their sakes, will you marry me?"
My heart it said na, for I looked for Jamie back;
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack;
His ship was a wrack! Why didna Jamie dee?
Or why was I spared to cry, Wae is me!