Beginners
Experts
Burns Supper
Top Features
Discussion Forum
Newsletter
Poems & Songs
The Letters
Federation
E- Membership
Schools
Contributions
Links
Search the Site
Scottish History
The Burns Shop

Translation
Index


Passion's Cry

 

Burns Original

Standard English Translation

 

Mild zephyrs waft thee to life's farthest shore,
Nor think of me and my distresses more!
Falsehood accurst! No! Still I beg a place,
Still near thy heart some little, little trace!
For that dear trace the world I would resign:
O, let me live, and die, and think it mine!

By all I lov'd, neglected, and forgot,
No friendly face e'er lights my squalid cot.
Shunn'd, hated, wrong'd, unpitied, unredrest
The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest;
Ev'n the poor support of my wretched life,
Snatched by the violence of legal strife;
Oft grateful for my very daily bread.
To those my family's once large bounty fed;
A welcome inmate at their homely fare,
My grief, my woes, my sighs, my tears they share:
Their vulgar souls unlike the souls refined,
The fashion'd marble of the polish'd mind.

' I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn
By driving winds the crackling flames are borne.'
Now, maddening-wild, I curse that fatal night,
Now bless the hour that charm'd my guilty sight.
In vain Religion meets my shrinking eye:
I dare not combat, but I turn and fly.
Conscience in vain upbraids th' unhallow'd fire.
Love grasps his scorpions - stifled they expire.
Reason drops headlong from his sacred throne.
Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone;
Each thought intoxicated homage yields,
And riots wanton in forbidden fields.

By all on high adoring mortals know;
By all the conscious villain fears below;
By what, alas! much more my soul alarms -
My doubtful hopes once more to fill thy arms -
Ev'n shouldst thou, false, forswear the guilty tie,
Thine and thine only I must live and die!

 

 

Mild zephyrs waft you to life's farthest shore,
Nor think of me and my distresses more!
Falsehood accursed! No! Still I beg a place,
Still near your heart some little, little trace!
For that dear trace the world I would resign:
O, let me live, and die, and think it mine!

By all I loved, neglected, and forgot,
No friendly face ever lights my squalid cot.
Shunned, hated, wronged, unpitied, unredressed
The mocked quotation of the scorner's jest;
Even the poor support of my wretched life,
Snatched by the violence of legal strife;
Often grateful for my very daily bread.
To those my family's once large bounty fed;
A welcome inmate at their homely fare,
My grief, my woes, my sighs, my tears they share:
Their vulgar souls unlike the souls refined,
The fashioned marble of the polished mind.

' I burn, I burn, as when through ripened corn
By driving winds the crackling flames are borne.'
Now, maddening-wild, I curse that fatal night,
Now bless the hour that charmed my guilty sight.
In vain Religion meets my shrinking eye:
I dare not combat, but I turn and fly.
Conscience in vain upbraids the unhallowed fire.
Love grasps his scorpions - stifled they expire.
Reason drops headlong from his sacred throne.
Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone;
Each thought intoxicated homage yields,
And riots wanton in forbidden fields.

By all on high adoring mortals know;
By all the conscious villain fears below;
By what, alas! much more my soul alarms -
My doubtful hopes once more to fill your arms -
Even should you, false, forswear the guilty tie,
Yours and yours only I must live and die!

 

2004 WBC. Under no circumstances can any  of the contents of this site be copied, reproduced,  or represented without prior written consent.