Identifier: completeworksofr00burn (find matches)
Title: The complete works of Robert Burns : containing his poems, songs, and correspondence
Year: 1842 (1840s)
Authors: Burns, Robert, 1759-1796 Cunningham, Allan, 1784-1842
Subjects:
Publisher: London : G. Virtue
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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ul prime !Alternate follies take the sway; Licentious passions burn;Which tenfold force gives natures law. That man was made to mourn. Look not alone on youthful prime, Or manhoods active might;Man then is useful to liis kind, Supported in his right:J >ut see him on the edge of life, With cares and sorrows worn ;Then age and want—oh ! ill matchd pair !- Show man was made to mourn. A few seem favourites of fate, In pleasures lap carest:Yet, think not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest.But, oh ! what crowds in every land. All wretched and forlorn !Thro -weary life this lesson learn— That man was made to mourn. Many and sharp the numrous ills Inwoven with our frame !More pointed still we make ourselves, Begret, remorse, and shame !And man, whose lieaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn,Mans inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn ! See yonder poor, ocrlabourd wiglit, So abject, mean, and vile,Wlio begs a brotiicr of tlie earth To give him leave to toil;
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s t.~- OF ROBERT BURNS. 31 And see his lordly fellow-worm Tlie poor petition spurn,Unniindful, tliout^^h a weeping wife And helpless ottspring mourn. If Im designed yon lordlings slave— By Natures law designd—Why was an independent wisli Ker i)lanted in my mind ?If not, wliy am I subject to His cruelty or scorn ?Or why has man the will and ))ower To make his fellow mourn ? Yet, let not this too much, my son. Disturb thy youthful breast;This partial view of liuman-kind Is surely not the best !The poor, oppressed, honest man Had never, sure, been born,Had there not been some recompense To comfort those that mourn ! O Death ! the poor mans dearest friend- The kindest and the best!Welcome the hour, my aged limbs Are laid with thee at rest!The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, From pomp and pleasure torn !But, oh ! a blest relief to those That weary-laden mourn. XXVIl. ^0 iXnin. (I have been, says Burns, in his common-place book, taking apeep through, as Young finely says, The dark po

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