The Complete Works - Robert Burns

Скачать книгу

unfortunate. His wife, a very beautiful woman, died in child-bed. His son, a promising boy, in whose education he took great delight, was likewise snatched from his affections by a premature death; and his second daughter, in personal loveliness one of the first women of the age, was cut off by consumption, when only twenty-five years old.” Her name was Elizabeth.]

      Life ne’er exulted in so rich a prize

      As Burnet, lovely from her native skies;

      Nor envious death so triumph’d in a blow,

      As that which laid th’ accomplish’d Burnet low.

      Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget?

      In richest ore the brightest jewel set!

      In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown,

      As by his noblest work, the Godhead best is known.

      In vain ye flaunt in summer’s pride, ye groves;

      Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore,

      Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves,

      Ye cease to charm—Eliza is no more!

      Ye heathy wastes, immix’d with reedy fens;

      Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stor’d;

      Ye rugged cliffs, o’erhanging dreary glens,

      To you I fly, ye with my soul accord.

      Princes, whose cumb’rous pride was all their worth,

      Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail?

      And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth,

      And not a muse in honest grief bewail?

      We saw thee shine in youth and beauty’s pride,

      And virtue’s light, that beams beyond the spheres;

      But like the sun eclips’d at morning tide,

      Thou left’st us darkling in a world of tears.

      The parent’s heart that nestled fond in thee,

      That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care;

      So leck’d the woodbine sweet yon aged tree;

      So from it ravish’d, leaves it bleak and bare.

      CXXIV. LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN

      [Burns lamented the death of this kind and accomplished nobleman with melancholy sincerity: he moreover named one of his sons for him: he went into mourning when he heard of his death, and he sung of his merits in a strain not destined soon to lose the place it has taken among the verses which record the names of the noble and the generous. He died January 30, 1791, in the forty-second year of his age. James Cunningham was succeeded in his title by his brother, and with him expired, in 1796, the last of a race, whose name is intimately connected with the History of Scotland, from the days of Malcolm Canmore.]

      I.

      The wind blew hollow frae the hills,

      By fits the sun’s departing beam

      Look’d on the fading yellow woods

      That wav’d o’er Lugar’s winding stream:

      Beneath a craggy steep, a bard,

      Laden with years and meikle pain,

      In loud lament bewail’d his lord,

      Whom death had all untimely ta’en.

      II.

      He lean’d him to an ancient aik,

      Whose trunk was mould’ring down with years;

      His locks were bleached white with time,

      His hoary cheek was wet wi’ tears;

      And as he touch’d his trembling harp,

      And as he tun’d his doleful sang,

      The winds, lamenting thro’ their caves,

      To echo bore the notes alang.

      III.

      “Ye scattered birds that faintly sing,

      The reliques of the vernal quire!

      Ye woods that shed on a’ the winds

      The honours of the aged year!

      A few short months, and glad and gay,

      Again ye’ll charm the ear and e’e;

      But nocht in all revolving time

      Can gladness bring again to me.

      IV.

      “I am a bending aged tree,

      That long has stood the wind and rain;

      But now has come a cruel blast,

      And my last hold of earth is gane:

      Nae leaf o’ mine shall greet the spring,

      Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom;

      But I maun lie before the storm,

      And ithers plant them in my room.

      V.

      “I’ve seen sae mony changefu’ years,

      On earth I am a stranger grown;

      I wander in the ways of men,

      Alike unknowing and unknown:

      Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved,

      I bear alane my lade o’ care,

      For silent, low, on beds of dust,

      Lie a’ that would my sorrows share.

      VI.

      “And last (the sum of a’ my griefs!)

      My noble master lies in clay;

      The flow’r amang our barons bold,

      His country’s pride! his country’s stay—

      In weary being now I pine,

      For a’ the life of life is dead,

      And hope has left my aged ken,

      On forward wing for ever fled.

      VII.

      “Awake thy last sad voice, my harp!

      The voice of woe and wild despair;

      Awake! resound thy latest lay—

      Then sleep in silence evermair!

      And thou, my last, best, only friend,

      That fillest an untimely tomb,

      Accept this tribute from the bard

      Though brought from fortune’s mirkest gloom.

      VIII.

      “In poverty’s low barren vale

      Thick mists, obscure, involve me round;

      Though oft I turn’d the wistful eye,

      Nae ray of fame was to be found:

      Thou found’st me, like the morning sun,

      That melts the fogs in limpid air,

      The friendless bard and rustic song

      Became alike thy fostering care.

      IX.

      “O! why has worth so short a date?

      While villains ripen fray with time;

      Must thou, the noble, gen’rous, great,

      Fall in bold manhood’s hardy prime!

      Why did I live to see that day?

      A day to me so full of woe!—

      O had I met the mortal shaft

      Which laid my benefactor low.

      X.

      “The bridegroom may forget the bride

      Was made his wedded wife yestreen;

      The

Скачать книгу