Despondency


Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care, A burden more than I can bear, I set me down and sigh; O life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I! Dim backward as I cast my view, What sick'ning scenes appear! What sorrows yet may pierce me through, Too justly I may fear! Still caring, despairing, Must be my bitter doom; My woes here shall close ne'er But with the closing tomb! Happy! ye sons of busy life, Who, equal to the bustling strife, No other view regard! Ev'n when the wished end's denied, Yet while the busy means are plied, They bring their own reward: Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, Unfitted with an aim, Meet ev'ry sad returning night, And joyless morn the same! You, bustling, and justling, Forget each grief and pain; I, listless, yet restless, Find ev'ry prospect vain. How blest the solitary's lot, Who, all-forgetting, all forgot, Within his humble cell, The cavern, wild with tangling roots, Sits o'er his newly gather'd fruits, Beside his crystal well! Or haply, to his ev'ning thought, By unfrequented stream, The ways of men are distant brought, A faint, collected dream; While praising, and raising His thoughts to heav'n on high, As wand'ring, meand'ring, He views the solemn sky. Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd Where never human footstep trac'd, Less fit to play the part, The lucky moment to improve, And just to stop, and just to move, With self-respecting art: But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys, Which I too keenly taste, The solitary can despise, Can want, and yet be blest! He needs not, he heeds not, Or human love or hate; Whilst I here must cry here At perfidy ingrate! O, enviable, early days, When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, To care, to guilt unknown! How ill exchang'd for riper times, To feel the follies, or the crimes, Of others, or my own! Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, Like linnets in the bush, Ye little know the ills ye court, When manhood is your wish! The losses, the crosses, That active man engage; The fears all, the tears all, Of dim declining age!

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Maureen Beattie

About this work

This is a poem by Robert Burns. It was written in 1786 and is read here by Maureen Beattie.

More about this poem

One of Burns' lesser known poems, Despondency is a melancholic piece which appeared in the Kilmarnock edition and is thought to have been written at the same time as The Lament and To Ruin in early 1786, a time when his relationship with Jean Armour was estranged due to the intervention of her father James Armour.

It is obvious from the first two lines of the poem Burns state of mind at their enforced separation and it is believed that Burns considered leaving Scotland for Jamaica in an attempt to forget Jean.

Alistair Braidwood

Themes for this poem

unhappiness

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