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Translation
Index

A Ruined Farmer
TUNE: Go from my window, love, do

 

 

Burns Original

Standard English Translation


1.
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,
Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;
But Misery and I must watch
The surly tempests blow:
And it's O fickle Fortune, O!
3.
There lies the dear Partner of my breast,
Her cares for a moment at rest!
Must I see thee, my youthful pride,
Thus brought so very low? -
And it's O fickle Fortune, O!
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,
I once could relieve the distrest;
Now life's poor support, hardly earn'd,
My fate will scarce bestow:
And it's O fickle Fortune, O!
6.
No comfort, no comfort I have!
How welcome to me were the grave!
But then my wife and children dear -
O, whither would they go?
And it's O fickle Fortune, O!
7.
O, whither, O, whither shall I turn,
All friendless, forsaken, forlorn?
For in this world Rest of Peace
I never more shall know:
And it's O fickle Fortune, O!



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 is O fickle Fortune, O!

The prosperous man is asleep,
Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;
But Misery and I must watch
The surly tempests blow:
And it is O fickle Fortune, O!

There lies the dear Partner of my breast,
Her cares for a moment at rest!
Must I see you, my youthful pride,
Thus brought so very low? -
And it is O fickle Fortune, O!

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 (suffering):
And it is O fickle Fortune, O!

I once was by Fortune cared,
I once could relieve the distressed;
Now life's poor support, hardly earned,
My fate will scarce bestow:
And it is O fickle Fortune, O!

No comfort, no comfort I have!
How welcome to me were the grave!
But then my wife and children dear -
O, whither would they go?
And it is O fickle Fortune, O!

O, whither, O, whither shall I turn,
All friendless, forsaken, forlorn?
For in this world Rest of Peace
I never more shall know:
And it is O fickle Fortune, O!

 

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