 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT
I
Thickest night, surround my dwelling!Howling tempests, o'er me rave!
Turbid torrents wintry-swelling,
Roaring by my lonely cave!
Crystal streamlets gently flowing,
Busy haunts of base mankind,
Western breezes softly blowing,
Suit not my distracted mind.
II
In the cause of Right engagèd,Wrongs injurious to redress,
Honour's war we strongly wagèd,
But the heavens deny'd success.
Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us:
Not a hope that dare attend,
The wide world is all before us,
But a world without a friend.
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |