The Complete Works of Robert Burns Part 28

[Footnote 50: A preacher, a great favourite with the million. _Vide_ the Ordination, stanza II]

[Footnote 51: Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who was at that time ailing. For him see also the Ordination, stanza IX.]

XLI.

LAMENT,

OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE

OF A

FRIEND'S AMOUR.

"Alas! how oft does goodness wound itself!

And sweet affection prove the spring of woe."

HOME.

[The hero and heroine of this little mournful poem, were Robert Burns and Jean Armour. "This was a most melancholy affair," says the poet in his letter to Moore, "which I cannot yet bear to reflect on, and had very nearly given me one or two of the princ.i.p.al qualifications for a place among those who have lost the chart and mistaken the reckoning of rationality." Hogg and Motherwell, with an ignorance which is easier to laugh at than account for, say this Poem was "written on the occasion of Alexander Cunningham's darling sweetheart alighting him and marrying another:--she acted a wise part." With what care they had read the great poet whom they jointly edited in is needless to say: and how they could read the last two lines of the third verse and commend the lady's wisdom for slighting her lover, seems a problem which defies definition. This mistake was pointed out by a friend, and corrected in a second issue of the volume.]

I.

O thou pale orb, that silent s.h.i.+nes, While care-untroubled mortals sleep!

Thou seest a wretch who inly pines, And wanders here to wail and weep!

With woe I nightly vigils keep, Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam, And mourn, in lamentation deep, How life and love are all a dream.

II.

A joyless view thy rays adorn The faintly marked distant hill: I joyless view thy trembling horn, Reflected in the gurgling rill: My fondly-fluttering heart, be still: Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease!

Ah! must the agonizing thrill For ever bar returning peace!

III.

No idly-feign'd poetic pains, My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim; No shepherd's pipe--Arcadian strains; No fabled tortures, quaint and tame: The plighted faith; the mutual flame; The oft-attested Pow'rs above; The promis'd father's tender name; These were the pledges of my love!

IV.

Encircled in her clasping arms, How have the raptur'd moments flown!

How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, For her dear sake, and hers alone!

And must I think it!--is she gone, My secret heart's exulting boast?

And does she heedless hear my groan?

And is she ever, ever lost?

V.

Oh! can she bear so base a heart, So lost to honour, lost to truth, As from the fondest lover part, The plighted husband of her youth!

Alas! life's path may be unsmooth!

Her way may lie thro' rough distress!

Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share, and make them less?

VI.

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, Your dear remembrance in my breast, My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd, That breast, how dreary now, and void, For her too scanty once of room!

Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, And not a wish to gild the gloom!

VII.

The morn that warns th' approaching day, Awakes me up to toil and woe: I see the hours in long array, That I must suffer, lingering slow.

Full many a pang, and many a throe, Keen recollection's direful train, Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, Shall kiss the distant, western main.

VIII.

And when my nightly couch I try, Sore-hara.s.s'd out with care and grief, My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, Keep watchings with the nightly thief: Or if I slumber, fancy, chief, Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright: Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief, From such a horror-breathing night.

IX.

O! thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway!

Oft has thy silent-marking glance Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray!

The time, unheeded, sped away, While love's luxurious pulse beat high, Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, To mark the mutual kindling eye.

X.

Oh! scenes in strong remembrance set!

Scenes never, never to return!

Scenes, if in stupor I forget, Again I feel, again I burn!

From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, Life's weary vale I'll wander thro'; And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn A faithless woman's broken vow.

XLII.

DESPONDENCY.

AN ODE.

["I think," said Burns, "it is one of the greatest pleasures attending a poetic genius, that we can give our woes, cares, joys, and loves an embodied form in verse, which to me is ever immediate ease." He elsewhere says, "My pa.s.sions raged like so many devils till they got vent in rhyme." That eminent painter, Fuseli, on seeing his wife in a pa.s.sion, said composedly, "Swear my love, swear heartily: you know not how much it will ease you!" This poem was printed in the Kilmarnock edition, and gives a true picture of those bitter moments experienced by the bard, when love and fortune alike deceived him.]

I.