Explore "A Bard's Epitaph" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Is there a whim-inspired fool, / Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, / Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, / Let him draw near; / And owre this grassy heap sing dool, / And drap a tear.
Is there a bard of rustic song, / Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, / That weekly this area throng, / O, pass not by! / But, with a frater-feeling strong, / Here, heave a sigh.
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, thro' the starting tear, / Survey this grave.
The poor inhabitant below / Was quick to learn the wise to know, / And keenly felt the friendly glow, / And softer flame; / But thoughtless follies laid him low, / And stain'd 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.