MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN BY ROBERT BURNS Gilbert Burns, the brother of the poet, says: "He (Burns) used to remark to me that he could not well conceive a more mortifying picture of human life than a man seeking work. In casting about in his mind how this sentiment might be brought forward, the elegy, 'Man was Made to Mourn' was composed." When chill November's surly blast I spied a man whose aged step "Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?" Began the reverend sage; "Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasures rage? Or haply, prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me, to mourn The miseries of man! "The sun that overhangs yon moors, And every time has added proofs "O man, while in thy early years, Licentious passions burn; Which tenfold force gives Nature's law, That man was made to mourn. "Look not alone on youthful prime, But see him on the edge of life, Then age and want, O ill-matched pair! "A few seem favorites of fate, Yet think not all the rich and great But, O, what crowds in every land Through weary life this lesson learn, "Many and sharp the numerous ills, Inwoven with our frame! More pointed still we make ourselves, Regret, remorse, and shame! And man, whose heaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn, Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn! "See yonder poor, o'erlabored wight, "If I'm designed yon lordling's slave, By Nature's law designed, Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my mind? If not, why am I subject to Or why has man the will and power To make his fellow mourn? Yet let not this too much, my son, Disturb thy youthful breast: This partial view of humankind The poor, oppressed, honest man Had never, sure, been born, Had there not been some recompense "O Death! the poor man's 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, But O, a blest relief to those That weary-laden mourn!" FARE THEE WELL BY LORD BYRON Fare thee well! and if for ever, 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before thee Would that breast, by thee glanced over, Then thou wouldst at last discover 'Twas not well to spurn it so. Though the world for this commend thee,— Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee, Though my many faults defaced me, Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not: Still thine own its life retaineth,- Is These are words of deeper sorrow And when thou wouldst solace gather, When her little hands shall press thee, |