| |
| WHEN chill November’s surly blast | |
| Made fields and forests bare, | |
| One ev’ning, as I wander’d forth | |
| Along the banks of Ayr, | |
| I spied a man, whose aged step | 5 |
| Seem’d weary, worn with care; | |
| His face furrow’d o’er with years, | |
| And hoary was his hair. | |
| |
| “Young stranger, whither wand’rest thou?” | |
| Began the rev’rend sage; | 10 |
| “Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, | |
| Or youthful pleasure’s rage? | |
| Or haply, prest with cares and woes, | |
| Too soon thou hast began | |
| To wander forth, with me to mourn | 15 |
| The miseries of man. | |
| |
| “The sun that overhangs yon moors, | |
| Out-spreading far and wide, | |
| Where hundreds labour to support | |
| A haughty lordling’s pride;— | 20 |
| I’ve seen yon weary winter-sun | |
| Twice forty times return; | |
| And ev’ry time has added proofs, | |
| That man was made to mourn. | |
| |
| “O man! while in thy early years, | 25 |
| How prodigal of time! | |
| Mis-spending all thy precious hours— | |
| Thy glorious, youthful prime! | |
| Alternate follies take the sway; | |
| Licentious passions burn; | 30 |
| Which tenfold force gives Nature’s law. | |
| That man was made to mourn. | |
| |
| “Look not alone on youthful prime, | |
| Or manhood’s active might; | |
| Man then is useful to his kind, | 35 |
| Supported in his right: | |
| But see him on the edge of life, | |
| With cares and sorrows worn; | |
| Then Age and Want—oh! ill-match’d pair— | |
| Shew man was made to mourn. | 40 |
| |
| “A few seem favourites of fate, | |
| In pleasure’s lap carest; | |
| Yet, think not all the rich and great | |
| Are likewise truly blest: | |
| But oh! what crowds in ev’ry land, | 45 |
| All wretched and forlorn, | |
| Thro’ weary life this lesson learn, | |
| That man was made to mourn. | |
| |
| “Many and sharp the num’rous ills | |
| Inwoven with our frame! | 50 |
| More pointed still we make ourselves, | |
| Regret, remorse, and shame! | |
| And man, whose heav’n-erected face | |
| The smiles of love adorn,— | |
| Man’s inhumanity to man | 55 |
| Makes countless thousands mourn! | |
| |
| “See yonder poor, o’erlabour’d wight, | |
| So abject, mean, and vile, | |
| Who begs a brother of the earth | |
| To give him leave to toil; | 60 |
| And see his lordly fellow-worm | |
| The poor petition spurn, | |
| Unmindful, tho’ a weeping wife | |
| And helpless offspring mourn. | |
| |
| “If I’m design’d yon lordling’s slave, | 65 |
| By Nature’s law design’d, | |
| Why was an independent wish | |
| E’er planted in my mind? | |
| If not, why am I subject to | |
| His cruelty, or scorn? | 70 |
| Or why has man the will and pow’r | |
| To make his fellow mourn? | |
| |
| “Yet, let not this too much, my son, | |
| Disturb thy youthful breast: | |
| This partial view of human-kind | 75 |
| Is surely not the last! | |
| The poor, oppressed, honest man | |
| Had never, sure, been born, | |
| Had there not been some recompense | |
| To comfort those that mourn! | 80 |
| |
| “O Death! the poor man’s dearest friend, | |
| The kindest and the best! | |
| Welcome the hour my aged limbs | |
| Are laid with thee at rest! | |
| The great, the wealthy fear thy blow | 85 |
| From pomp and pleasure torn; | |
| But, oh! a blest relief for those | |
| That weary-laden mourn!” | |
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