"If I'm designed yon lordling's slave,
By nature's law designed,
Why was an independent wish
E'er planted in my mind?
If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty and scorn?
Or why has man the will and power
To make his fellow mourn?
"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 recompense
To comfort those that mourn!"
Robert Burns ran off the rail-road line of morality; but listen to the advice, warned by his own folly, which he gives to a Young Friend.
"The sacred lowe o' weel-placed love,
Luxuriantly indulge it,
But never tempt the illicit rove,
Tho' naething should divulge it,
I waive the quantum o' the sin,
The hazard of concealing;
But, och! it hardens a' within,
And petrifies the feeling!
"To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile,
Assiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by every wile
That's justified by honor:
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Nor for a train attendant,
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.
"The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip
To haud the wretch in order,
But where ye feel your honor grip,
Let that aye be your border:
Its slightest touches, instant pause—
Debar a' side pretenses,
And resolutely keep its laws,
Uncaring consequences.
"The great Creator to revere
Must sure become the creature,
But still the preaching cant forbear,
And e'en the rigid feature;
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range,
Be complaisance extended;
An Atheist's laugh's a poor exchange
For Deity offended!
"When ranting round in pleasure's ring,
Religion may be blinded,
Or if she gie a random sting,
It may be little minded;
But when on life we're tempest driven,
A conscience but a canker—
A correspondence fixed wi' Heaven
Is sure a noble anchor!"
These are golden words, worthy to be committed to memory by every young person; they are full of the deepest wisdom. But such wisdom, such golden lines, we might quote from almost every page of Burns. In his Epistle to Davie, how cordially does he enter into all the miseries of the poor, yet how eloquently does he also dwell on those blessings which God has given to all, and which no circumstances can take away!
"To lie in kilns and barns at e'en,
When banes are crazed and bluid is thin,
Is doubtless great distress!"