Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) (26 page)
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Authors: Robert Burns
102.
On turning down with the Plough, in April, 1786.
WEE, modest crimson-tippèd flow’r,
Thou’s met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my pow’r,
5
Thou bonie gem.
Alas! it’s no thy neibor sweet,
The bonie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee ‘mang the dewy weet,
Wi’ spreckl’d breast!
10
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet
The purpling east.
Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
15
Amid the storm,
Scarce rear’d above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.
The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield,
High shelt’ring woods and wa’s maun shield;
20
But thou, beneath the random bield
O’ clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble field,
Unseen, alane.
There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
25
Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!
30
Such is the fate of artless maid,
Sweet flow’ret of the rural shade!
By love’s simplicity betray’d,
And guileless trust;
Till she, like thee, all soil’d, is laid
35
Low i’ the dust.
Such is the fate of simple bard,
On life’s rough ocean luckless starr’d!
Unskilful he to note the card
Of prudent lore,
40
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o’er!
Such fate to suffering worth is giv’n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv’n,
By human pride or cunning driv’n
45
To mis’ry’s brink;
Till wrench’d of ev’ry stay but Heav’n,
He, ruin’d, sink!
Ev’n thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate,
That fate is thine — no distant date;
50
Stern Ruin’s plough-share drives elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till crush’d beneath the furrow’s weight,
Shall be thy doom!
103.
ALL hail! inexorable lord!
At whose destruction-breathing word,
The mightiest empires fall!
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train,
The ministers of grief and pain,
5
A sullen welcome, all!
With stern-resolv’d, despairing eye,
I see each aimèd dart;
For one has cut my dearest tie,
And quivers in my heart.
10
Then low’ring, and pouring,
The storm no more I dread;
Tho’ thick’ning, and black’ning,
Round my devoted head.
And thou grim Pow’r by life abhorr’d,
15
While life a pleasure can afford,
Oh! hear a wretch’s pray’r!
Nor more I shrink appall’d, afraid;
I court, I beg thy friendly aid,
To close this scene of care!
20
When shall my soul, in silent peace,
Resign life’s joyless day —
My weary heart is throbbing cease,
Cold mould’ring in the clay?
No fear more, no tear more,
25
To stain my lifeless face,
Enclaspèd, and grasped,
Within thy cold embrace!
104.
Occasioned by the unfortunate issue of a Friend’s Amour.
“Alas! how oft does goodness would itself,
And sweet affection prove the spring of woe!”
HOME.
O THOU pale orb that silent shines
While care-untroubled mortals sleep!
Thou seest a wretch who inly pines.
And wanders here to wail and weep!
With woe I nightly vigils keep,
5
Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam;
And mourn, in lamentation deep,
How life and love are all a dream!
I joyless view thy rays adorn
The faintly-marked, distant hill;
10
I joyless view thy trembling horn,
Reflected in the gurgling rill:
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still!
Thou busy pow’r, remembrance, cease!
Ah! must the agonizing thrill
15
For ever bar returning peace!
No idly-feign’d, poetic pains,
My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim:
No shepherd’s pipe — Arcadian strains;
No fabled tortures, quaint and tame.
20
The plighted faith, the mutual flame,
The oft-attested pow’rs above,
The promis’d father’s tender name;
These were the pledges of my love!
Encircled in her clasping arms,
25
How have the raptur’d moments flown!
How have I wish’d for fortune’s charms,
For her dear sake, and her’s alone!
And, must I think it! is she gone,
My secret heart’s exulting boast?
30
And does she heedless hear my groan?
And is she ever, ever lost?
Oh! can she bear so base a heart,
So lost to honour, lost to truth,
As from the fondest lover part,
35
The plighted husband of her youth?
Alas! life’s path may be unsmooth!
Her way may lie thro’ rough distress!
Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe
Her sorrows share, and make them less?
40
Ye wingèd hours that o’er us pass’d,
Enraptur’d more, the more enjoy’d,
Your dear remembrance in my breast
My fondly-treasur’d thoughts employ’d:
That breast, how dreary now, and void,
45
For her too scanty once of room!
Ev’n ev’ry ray of hope destroy’d,
And not a wish to gild the gloom!
The morn, that warns th’ approaching day,
Awakes me up to toil and woe;
50
I see the hours in long array,
That I must suffer, lingering, slow:
Full many a pang, and many a throe,
Keen recollection’s direful train,
Must wring my soul, were Phoebus, low,
55
Shall kiss the distant western main.
And when my nightly couch I try,
Sore harass’d out with care and grief,
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye,
Keep watchings with the nightly thief:
60
Or if I slumber, fancy, chief,
Reigns, haggard-wild, in sore affright:
Ev’n day, all-bitter, brings relief
From such a horror-breathing night.
O thou bright queen, who o’er th’ expanse
65
Now highest reign’st, with boundless sway
Oft has thy silent-marking glance
Observ’d us, fondly-wand’ring, stray!
The time, unheeded, sped away,
While love’s luxurious pulse beat high,
70
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray,
To mark the mutual-kindling eye.
Oh! scenes in strong remembrance set!
Scenes, never, never to return!
Scenes, if in stupor I forget,
75
Again I feel, again I burn!
From ev’ry joy and pleasure torn,
Life’s weary vale I’ll wander thro’;
And hopeless, comfortless, I’ll mourn
A faithless woman’s broken vow!
80
105.
OPPRESS’D with grief, oppress’d with care,
A burden more than I can bear,
I set me down and sigh;
O life! thou art a galling load,
Along a rough, a weary road,
5
To wretches such as I!
Dim backward as I cast my view,
What sick’ning scenes appear!
What sorrows yet may pierce me through,
Too justly I may fear!
10
Still caring, despairing,
Must be my bitter doom;
My woes here shall close ne’er
But with the closing tomb!
Happy! ye sons of busy life,
15
Who, equal to the bustling strife,
No other view regard!
Ev’n when the wished end’s denied,
Yet while the busy means are plied,
They bring their own reward:
20
Whilst I, a hope-abandon’d wight,
Unfitted with an aim,
Meet ev’ry sad returning night,
And joyless morn the same!
You, bustling, and justling,
25
Forget each grief and pain;
I, listless, yet restless,
Find ev’ry prospect vain.
How blest the solitary’s lot,
Who, all-forgetting, all forgot,
30
Within his humble cell,
The cavern, wild with tangling roots,
Sits o’er his newly gather’d fruits,
Beside his crystal well!
Or haply, to his ev’ning thought,
35
By unfrequented stream,
The ways of men are distant brought,
A faint, collected dream;
While praising, and raising
His thoughts to heav’n on high,
40
As wand’ring, meand’ring,
He views the solemn sky.
Than I, no lonely hermit plac’d
Where never human footstep trac’d,
Less fit to play the part,
45
The lucky moment to improve,
And just to stop, and just to move,
With self-respecting art:
But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys,
Which I too keenly taste,
50
The solitary can despise,
Can want, and yet be blest!
He needs not, he heeds not,
Or human love or hate;
Whilst I here must cry here
55
At perfidy ingrate!
O, enviable, early days,
When dancing thoughtless pleasure’s maze,
To care, to guilt unknown!
How ill exchang’d for riper times,
60
To feel the follies, or the crimes,
Of others, or my own!
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport,
Like linnets in the bush,
Ye little know the ills ye court,
65
When manhood is your wish!
The losses, the crosses,
That active man engage;
The fears all, the tears all,
Of dim declining age!
70
