A weary lot is thine.
[The song quoted above, we are told by Mr. C. K. Sharpe, was an especial favourite of Sir Walter Scott's, and he was delighted to hear it sung by his daughter, Mrs. Lockhart. In the following song, which occurs in "Rokeby," the author, it will be seen, borrows the last verse from the old Jacobite strain. He says, "The last verse is taken from the fragment of an old Scottish ballad, of which I only recollected two verses when the first edition of Rokeby was published. Mr. Thomas Sheridan kindly pointed out to me an entire copy of this beautiful song, which seems to express the fortunes of some follower of the Stuart family."]
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 mein,
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green,—
No more of me yon knew, my love!
No more of me you knew.
This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain;
But it 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.