Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. |
| |
| 25. My Father was a Farmer: A Ballad |
| | | | | Tune—“The weaver and his shuttle, O.” |
| |
| |
| MY father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O, | |
| And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O; | |
| He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne’er a farthing, O; | |
| For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O. | |
| |
| Then out into the world my course I did determine, O; | 5 |
| Tho’ to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, O; | |
| My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education, O: | |
| Resolv’d was I at least to try to mend my situation, O. | |
| |
| In many a way, and vain essay, I courted Fortune’s favour, O; | |
| Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour, O; | 10 |
| Sometimes by foes I was o’erpower’d, sometimes by friends forsaken, O; | |
| And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O. | |
| |
| Then sore harass’d and tir’d at last, with Fortune’s vain delusion, O, | |
| I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion, O; | |
| The past was bad, and the future hid, its good or ill untried, O; | 15 |
| But the present hour was in my pow’r, and so I would enjoy it, O. | |
| |
| No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend me, O; | |
| So I must toil, and sweat, and moil, and labour to sustain me, O; | |
| To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early, O; | |
| For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune fairly, O. | 20 |
| |
| Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro’ life I’m doom’d to wander, O, | |
| Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O: | |
| No view nor care, but shun whate’er might breed me pain or sorrow, O; | |
| I live to-day as well’s I may, regardless of to-morrow, O. | |
| |
| But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in his palace, O, | 25 |
| Tho’ Fortune’s frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice, O: | |
| I make indeed my daily bread, but ne’er can make it farther, O: | |
| But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O. | |
| |
| When sometimes by my labour, I earn a little money, O, | |
| Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen’rally upon me, O; | 30 |
| Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my goodnatur’d folly, O: | |
| But come what will, I’ve sworn it still, I’ll ne’er be melancholy, O. | |
| |
| All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, O, | |
| The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther, O: | |
| Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O, | 35 |
| A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O. | |
| |
|
|
|
