LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. Now nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, Makes woodland echoes ring; Now blooms the lily by the bank, The primrose down the brae; The hawthorn's budding in the glen, And milk-white is the slae; The meanest hind in fair Scotland May rove their sweets amang; But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, Maun lie in prison strang. I was the Queen o' bonnie France, Where happy I hae been; Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, As blythe lay down at e'en: My son! my son! may kinder stars God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. WHEN chill November's surly blast made fields and forests bare, I spied a man whose aged step seemed weary, worn with care; Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?" began the reverend sage; "Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, or youthful pleasure's rage? Or, haply, pressed 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 out-spreading far and wide, "O man! while in thy early years, how prodigal of time! Misspending all thy precious hours, thy glorious youthful prime! Alternate follies take the sway; licentious passions burn, Which tenfold force give Nature's law, that 'Man was made to mourn !' "See yonder poor o'er-laboured wight, so abject, mean, and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth to give him. . leave to toil; And see his lordly fellow-worm the poor petition spurn! Unmindful though a weeping wife and helpless offspring mourn. "If I'm designed yon Lordling's slave--by Nature's law designedWhy was an independent wish e'er planted in my mind? If not, why am I subjected to his cruelty and scorn? 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 human-kind is surely not the last! The poor, oppressed, honest man, had never, sure, been born, "O Death! the poor man's dearest friend, the kindest and the best! BURNS. |