MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. A DIRGE. I. 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 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 haply, prest with cares and woes, To wander forth, with me to mourn The miseries of man. III. The sun that overhangs yon moors, That man was made to mourn. IV. O man! while in thy early years, How prodigal of time! Mis-spending 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, 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 crowds in ev'ry land, Are wretched and forlorn. Thro' weary life this lesson learn, That man was made to mourn. VII. Many and sharp the num'rous ills More pointed still we make ourselves, 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, To give him leave to toil; 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 Or why has man the will and pow'r To make his fellow mourn? X. Yet, let not this too much, my son, The poor, oppressed, honest man, Had never, sure, been born, XI. O death! the poor man's dearest friend, Are laid with thee at rest! The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, That weary-laden mourn! |