ROKEBY: CANTO III - Frederick George Scott Poems

 
 

Poems » frederick george scott » rokeby canto iii

ROKEBY: CANTO III

SONG

  O, Brignall banks are wild and fair,
    And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there
    Would grace a summer queen.
And as I rode by Dalton-hall,
    Beneath the turrets high,
A maiden on the castle wall
    Was singing merrily:
"O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
    And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there
    Than reign our English queen."

  "If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me,
    To leave both tower and town,
Thou first must guess what life lead we
    That dwell by dale and down.
And if thou canst that riddle read,
    As read full well you may,
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed,
    As blithe as Queen of May."
Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair,
    And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there
    Than reign our English queen.

  "I read you, by your bugle horn,
    And by your palfrey good,
I read you for a ranger sworn
    To keep the king's greenwood."
"A ranger, lady, winds his horn,
    And 'tis at peep of light;
His blast is heard at merry morn,
    And mine at dead of night."
Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair,
    And Greta woods are gay;
I would I were with Edmund there,
    To reign his Queen of May!

  "With burnished brand and musketoon
    So gallantly you come,
I read you for a bold dragoon,
    That lists the tuck of drum."
"I list no more the tuck of drum,
    No more the trumpet hear;
But when the beetle sounds his hum,
    My comrades take the spear.
And O, though Brignall banks be fair,
    And Greta woods be gay,
Yet mickle must the maiden dare
    Would reign my Queen of May!

  "Maiden! a nameless life I lead,
    A nameless death I'll die
The fiend whose lantern lights the mead
    Were better mate than I!
And when I'm with my comrades met
    Beneath the greenwood bough,
What once we were we all forget,
    Nor think what we are now.
Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
    And Greta woods are green.
And you may gather garlands there
    Would grace a summer queen."

...

SONG

  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 his bridle-reins a shake,
    Said, "Adieu for evermore,
      My love!
    And adieu for evermore.