The Poetical Works of Robert Burns/To Mr. Cunningham
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.
TUNE—'THE HOPELESS LOVER.'
Now spring has clad the groves in green,And strew'd the lea wi' flowers;The furrow'd waving corn is seenRejoice in fostering showers;While ilka thing in nature joinTheir sorrows to forego,O why thus all alone are mineThe weary steps of woe?
The trout within yon wimpling burnGlides swift, a silver dart,And safe beneath a shady thornDefies the angler's art:My life was once that careless stream,That wanton trout was I;But love, wi' unrelenting beam,Has scorch'd my fountain dry.
The little flow'ret's peaceful lot,In yonder cliff that grows,Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,Nae ruder visit knows,Was mine; till love has o'er me past,And blighted a' my bloom,And now beneath the withering blastMy youth and joy consume.
The waken'd lav' rock warbling springs,And climbs the early sky,Winnowing blithe her dewy wingsIn morning's rosy eye;As little reckt I sorrow's power,Until the flowery snareO' witching love, in luckless hour,Made me the thrall o' care.
O had my fate been Greenland's snowsOr Afric's burning zone,Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes,So Peggy ne'er I'd known!The wretch whase doom is, "Hope nae mair!"What tongue his woes can tell!Within whose bosom, save despair,Nae kinder spirits dwell.