MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN, A DIRGE. Robert Burns Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T91548 Burns, Robert, 1759-1796. POEMS, CHIEFLY IN THE SCOTTISH DIALECT, BY ROBERT BURNS. Kilmarnock printed by John Wilson, M,DCC,LXXXVI. 1786 pp. 160-165. 240p.; 8⁰.

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MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN , A DIRGE . I. WHEN chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare , One ev'ning , as I wand'red forth , Along the banks of AIRE , I spy'd a man , whose aged step Seem'd weary , worn with care ; His face was furrow'd o'er with years , And hoary was his hair . II . Young stranger , whither wand'rest thou ? Began the rev'rend Sage ; 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 The miseries of Man . III . The Sun that overhangs yon moors , Out-spreading far and wide , Where hundreds labour to support A haughty lordling's pride ; I've seen yon weary winter-sun Twice forty times return ; And ev'ry time has added proofs , That Man was made to mourn . IV . O Man ! while in thy early years , How prodigal of time ! Mispending all thy precious hours , Thy glorious , youthful prime ! Alternate Follies take the sway ; Licentious Passions burn ; Which tenfold force gives Nature's law , That Man was made to mourn . V. Look not alone on youthful Prime , Or Manhood's active might ; Man then is useful to his kind , Supported is his right : But see him on the edge of life , With Cares and Sorrows worn , Then Age and Want , Oh ! ill-match'd pair ! Show Man was made to mourn . VI . 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 crouds in ev'ry land , All wretched and forlorn , Thro' weary life this lesson learn , That Man was made to mourn ! VII . Many and sharp the num'rous Ills Inwoven with our frame ! 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 Makes countless thousands mourn ! VIII . 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 ; And see his lordly fellow-worm , The poor petition spurn , Unmindful , tho' a weeping wife , And helpless offspring mourn . IX . If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave , 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 ? Or why has Man the will and pow'r To make his fellow mourn ? X. 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 , Had there not been some recompence To comfort those that mourn ! XI . 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 , From pomp and pleasure torn ; But Oh ! a blest relief for those That weary-laden mourn !