‘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 green-wood bough, What once we were we all forget, Nor think what we are now.’ _Chorus._ Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather flowers there Would grace a summer queen. _544._ _Lucy Ashton’s Song_ Look not thou on beauty’s charming; Sit thou still when kings are arming; Taste not when the wine-cup glistens; Speak not when the people listens; Stop thine ear against the singer; From the red gold keep thy finger; Vacant heart and hand and eye, Easy live and quiet die. _545._ _Answer_ Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name. _546._ _The Rover’s Adieu_ 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 ye knew, My Love! No more of me ye 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.’ _Patriotism_ _547._ _1. Innominatus_ Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, ‘This is my own, my native land!’ Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d As home his footsteps he hath turn’d From wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung. _548._ _2. Nelson, Pitt, Fox_