In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer |
Robert Burns
The sun he is sunk in the west, All creatures retired to rest, While here I sit, all sore beset, With sorrow, grief, and woe: And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
2. The prosperous man is asleep,
3. There lies the dear partner of my breast; | 4. There lie my sweet babies in her arms; No anxious fear their little hearts alarms; But for their sake my heart does ache, With many a bitter throe: And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
5. I once was by Fortune carest:
6. No comfort, no comfort I have! |
7. O whither, O whither shall I turn! All friendless, forsaken, forlorn! For, in this world, Rest or Peace I never more shall know! And it's O, fickle Fortune, O! |