Here is poor Burns's saying--
Is there a man whose judgment clear
Can others teach the course to steer,
Yet runs himself life's mad career
Wild as the wave?
Here pause, and through the starting tear
Survey this grave.
The poor inhabitant below
Was quick to learn and wise to know,
And keenly felt the kindly glow
And softer flame;
But thoughtless follies laid him low
And stained his name.
Reader, attend! Whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole;
Or, darkling, grubs this earthly hole
In low pursuit,
Know--prudent cautious self-control
Is wisdom's root.
When I ponder that forlorn masterpiece, I cannot help a tendency to
despair; for I know, by multifarious experience of men, that the curt
lines hint at profundities so vast as to baffle the best powers of
comprehension. As I think of the hundreds of men who are minor copies of
Burns, I have a passionate wish to call on the Power that sways us all
and pray for pity and guidance. A most wise--should I say "wise"?--and
brilliant man had brought himself very low through drink, and was dying
solely through the effects of a debauch which had lasted for years with
scarcely an interval of pure sanity.
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