Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake

Robert Burns (1759–1796)

A Bard’s Epitaph

IS there a whim-inspired fool,

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,

Let him draw near;

And owre this grassy heap sing dool,

And drap a tear.

Is there a bard of rustic song,

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,

That weekly this area throng,

O, pass not by!

But, with a frater-feeling strong,

Here, heave a sigh.

Is there a man whose judgment clear,

Can others teach the course to steer,

Yet runs, himself, life’s mad career

Wild as the wave;

Here pause—and, thro’ the starting tear,

Survey this grave.

The poor inhabitant below

Was quick to learn, and wise to know,

And keenly felt the friendly glow,

And softer flame;

But thoughtless follies laid him low,

And stained his name!

Reader, attend—whether thy soul

Soars fancy’s flights beyond the pole,

Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,

In low pursuit;

Know, prudent, cautious self-control

Is wisdom’s root.