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Poem by Robert Burns


The Death of John MLeod, Esq


Brother to a young lady, a particular friend of the authors

SAD thy tale, thou idle page,
  And rueful thy alarms:
Death tears the brother of her love
  From Isabellas arms.

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew
  The morning rose may blow;
But cold successive noontide blasts
  May lay its beauties low.

Fair on Isabellas morn
  The sun propitious smild;
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds
  Succeeding hopes beguild.

Fate oft tears the bosom chords
  That Nature finest strung:
So Isabellas heart was formd,
  And so that heart was wrung.

Dread Omnipotence alone
  Can heal the wound He gave;
Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes
  To scenes beyond the grave.

Virtues blossoms there shall blow,
  And fear no withering blast;
There Isabellas spotless worth
  Shall happy be at last.



                      Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Mark Yonder Pomp
  2. By Allan Stream
  3. Theres News, Lasses
  4. Scroggam
  5. Theres a Youth in This City


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