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From: Great Works of Literature
Date: 19920101
Author:Scott, Sir Walter
00-00-0000
Rover, The
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.
'This 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.'
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