“My Father Was a Farmer”
“In this song, despite all the poverty and misfortune the poet has suffered,
he thinks of the good lessons that he was taught by his father and swears
never to be melancholy over such a thing as lack of money.”
“My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O,
And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O.
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne’er a farthing, O,
For without an honest, manly heart no man was worth regarding, O.
Then out into the world my course I did determine, O:
Though to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, O.
My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education, O–
Resolv’d was I at least to try to mend my situation, O.
In many a way and vain essay I courted Fortune’s favor, O:
Some cause unseen still stept between to frustrate each endeavor,O.
Sometimes by foes I was o’erpower’d, sometimes by friends forsaken, O.
And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O.
Then sore harass’d, and tir’d at last with Fortune’s vain delusion, O,
I dropt my schemes like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion, O:–
The past was bad, and the future hid; its good or ill untried, O,
But the present hour was in my pow’r, and so I would enjoy it, O.
No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend me, O;
So I must toil, and sweat, and broil, and labor to sustain me, O!
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early, O:
For one, he said, to labor bred was a match Fortune fairly, O.
Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, through life I’m doom’d to wander, O,
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O.
No view nor care, but shun whate’er might breed me pain or sorrow, O.
I live today as well’s I may, regardless of tomorrow, O!
But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a palace, O,
Though fortune’s frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice, O:
I make indeed my daily bread, but ne’er can make it farther, O.
But, as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O.
When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money, O,
Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen’rally upon me, O:
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur’d folly, O–
But come what will, I’ve sworn it still, I’ll ne’er be melancholy, O.
All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, O,
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther, O.
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O,
A cheerful, honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O!”
Excerpted from “ROBERT BURNS in your pocket”.
Publisher: Waverly Books, 144 Port Dundas Road, Glasgow,G4 OHZ.
Feel the Burns, Islander.
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