The Poetry of Robert Burns Edited by William Ernest Henley and Thomas F. Henderson |
I. |
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IV. |
A RUINED FARMER |
The Poetry of Robert Burns | ||
A RUINED FARMER
I
The sun he is sunk in the west,All creatures retirèd to rest,
While here I sit, all sore beset
With sorrow, grief, and woe:
And it's O fickle Fortune, O!
II
The prosperous man is asleep,Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;
But Misery and I must watch
The surly tempests blow:
And it's O fickle Fortune, O!
III
There lies the dear Partner of my breast,Her cares for a moment at rest!
Must I see thee, my youthful pride,
Thus brought so very low?—
And it's O fickle Fortune, O!
2
IV
There lie my sweet babies in her arms;No anxious fear their little hearts alarms;
But for their sake my heart does ache,
With many a bitter throe:
And it's O fickle Fortune, O!
V
I once was by Fortune carest,I once could relieve the distrest;
Now life's poor support, hardly earn'd,
My fate will scarce bestow:
And it's O fickle Fortune, O!
VI
No comfort, no comfort I have!How welcome to me were the grave!
But then my wife and children dear—
O, whither would they go!
And it's O fickle Fortune, O!
VII
O, whither, O, whither shall I turn,All friendless, forsaken, forlorn?
For in this world Rest or Peace
I never more shall know:
And it's O fickle Fortune, O!
The Poetry of Robert Burns | ||