Tribute to Robert Burns

[Cliphead]

I'll be singing this tonight in the pub and raising a glass to the bard. My favourite Burns song (one of his earliest), and all about babes of course.

Green Grow The Rashes

Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In ev'ry hour that passes, O;
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.
Green grow, etc

The warly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
Green grow, etc

But gie me a canny hour at e'en,
My arms about my Dearie, O;
An' warly cares an' warly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
Green grow, etc

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O;
The wisest Man the warl' saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.
Green grow, etc

Auld Nature swears, the lovely Dears
Her noblest work she classes, O;
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
Green grow, etc

[EternalOptimist]

If at first ye dinnae succeed
Try yon bootie and thence ye heid


Rabbie O'ptimist

[darmstadt]

KING ROBERT THE BRUCE'S deadly enemy, John of Lorn,
Joined the English with eight hundred Highlanders one morn,
All strong, hardy, and active fearless mountaineers,
But Bruce's men attacked them with swords and spears.

And while they were engaged, a new enemy burst upon them,
Like a torrent of water rushing down a rocky glen:
It was John of Lorn and his Highlanders that came upon them,
So the tide of battle was too much for them to stem.

And with savage yells they made the valley ring,
Then made a long circuit, and stole in behind the King,
Whirling their broadswords and Lochaber axes left and right;
And the enemy being thrice their number, they relinquished the fight

Then to a certain house Bruce quickly hied,
And sitting by the door the housewife he spied;
And she asked him who he was, and he said, A wanderer,
Then she said, All wanderers are welcome here, kind sir.

Then the King said, Good dame, tell me the reason why,
How you respect all wanderers that chance to pass by,
And for whose sake you bear such favour to homeless men?
Then she said, King Robert the Bruce, if you want to ken,

The lawful King of this country, whom I hope to see;
Then the Bruce said, My good woman, your King stands before thee;
And she said, Ah! Sire, where are your men gone?
Then the King told her that he's come alone.

Then she said, Ah, my lawful King, this must not be,
For I have two stout sons, and they shall follow thee,
And fight to the death for your Majesty,
Aye, in faith, my good King, by land or sea.

Then she brought her sons before the King, and thus did say,
Now swear, my sons, to be true to your King without dismay;
Then they knelt and cried, Mother, we'll do as you desire,
We willingly will fight on behalf of our noble sire.

Who has been hunted like a felon by night and by day,
By foul plotters devising to take his life away;
But God will protect him in the midst of the strife,
And, mother dear, we'll fight for him during life.

Then the King said, Noble lads, it's you shall follow me,
And ye shall be near me by land or sea,
And for your loyalty towards me your mother I'll reward;
When all on a sudden the tramping of horses was heard.

Then the King heard voices he knew full well,
But what had fetched his friends there he couldn't tell;
'Twas Edward his brother and Lord Douglas, with one hundred and fifty men,
That had travelled far, to find their King, o'er mountain and glen.

And when they met they conversed on the events of the day,
Then the King unto them quickly did say,
If we knew where the enemy were, we would work them skaith;
Then Lord James said, I'll lead you where they are, by my faith.

Then they marched on the enemy just as the morning broke,
To a farm-house where they were lodged, and, with one bold stroke,
They, the Scots, rushed in and killed two-thirds of them dead;
And such was the life, alas! King Robert the Bruce led!

[shaunbhoy]

Don't sweat it Churchill, I was having a Barry Norman moment!

[Churchill]

Being born and raised in Ayrshire, studying Burns was almost mandatory (and why not?)

Go on, I give up, tell us why not.

[shaunbhoy]

Being born and raised in Ayrshire, studying Burns was almost mandatory (and why not?) My favourite was always this :-

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie,
O, what panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry Man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request:
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' wast,
An' weary Winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald.
To thole the Winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

[Churchill]

Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,
To follow the noble vocation;
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another
To sit in that honoured station.
I've little to say, but only to pray,
As praying's the ton of your fashion;
A prayer from thee Muse you well may excuse
'Tis seldom her favourite passion.

Ye powers who preside o'er the wind, and the tide,
Who marked each element's border;
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim,
Whose sovereign statute is order:-
Within this dear mansion, may wayward Contention
Or withered Envy ne'er enter;
May secrecy round be the mystical bound,
And brotherly Love be the centre!

[AlfredJPruffock]

Sorry to hear that Alf. Raise a glass to the Bard all the same.

Gie him strong drink until he wink,
That's sinking in despair;
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid,
That's prest wi' grief and care:
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse,
Wi' bumpers flowing o'er,
Till he forgets his loves or debts,
An' minds his griefs no more.

I'm looking forward to dining on the "Great chieftain o' the pudding-race" when I get home.

Thanks for that - an eipc bit of wisdom !

I think this one would please a certain SB - whae's like us SB ?


When wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
And mony a widow mourning;
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger.

A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder;
And for fair Scotia hame again,
I cheery on did wander:
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy.

At length I reach'd the bonie glen,
Where early life I sported;
I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
Down by her mother's dwelling!
And turn'd me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, "Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
O! happy, happy may he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom:
My purse is light, I've far to gang,
And fain would be thy lodger;
I've serv'd my king and country lang-
Take pity on a sodger."

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,
And lovelier was than ever;
Quo' she, "A sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never:
Our humble cot, and hamely fare,
Ye freely shall partake it;
That gallant badge-the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't."

She gaz'd-she redden'd like a rose -
Syne pale like only lily;
She sank within my arms, and cried,
"Art thou my ain dear Willie?"
"By him who made yon sun and sky!
By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man; and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded.

"The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted;
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we'se ne'er be parted."
Quo' she, "My grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen plenish'd fairly;
And come, my faithfu' sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!"

For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize,
The sodgers wealth is honor:
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger;
Remember he's his country's stay,
In day and hour of danger.

Robert Burns 1793

[Buffoon]

If you met the sweaties that I am trying to avoid you would use the term specist. They are far more than a different race.

[Churchill]

That's racist

What is? Surely the Scots are a nation, not a race...

[Troll]

Thanks for the warning. I was going down one pub tonight which has a number of sweaties in it. I don't think I'll be going there!

That's racist

[PRC1964]

Sorry to hear that Alf. Raise a glass to the Bard all the same.

Gie him strong drink until he wink,
That's sinking in despair;
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid,
That's prest wi' grief and care:
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse,
Wi' bumpers flowing o'er,
Till he forgets his loves or debts,
An' minds his griefs no more.

I'm looking forward to dining on the "Great chieftain o' the pudding-race" when I get home.

[Buffoon]

Today Robert Burns day is celebrated in Scotland

Thanks for the warning. I was going down one pub tonight which has a number of sweaties in it. I don't think I'll be going there!

[AlfredJPruffock]

Today Robert Burns day is celebrated in Scotland - this would be a time of merriment for myself, however as Burns said we never know what trapdoors Life has in store for us - two days ago I leanrned of the tragic despair of an acquaintance who lost his seventeen year old son - a victim of leukemia.

I am reminded of the plight of Burns himself whose daughter died through illness and broken hearted Burns himself was to die off Illness shortly afterwards at the age of 36.

Due to the tragic circumstances I feel this poem is apt - I would have rather chose a more uplifting prose but my heart is heavy

I have rendered the English version of the poem for the benefit of all.


Man Was Made To Mourn.


When chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forest bare,
One evening, as I wandered forth
Along the banks of Ayr,
I spied a man, whose aged step
Seemed weary, worn with care,
His face was furrowed over with years,
And hoary (frosty) was his hair.

.
'Young stranger, where are you wandering to?'
Began the reverend Sage,
'Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,
Or youthful pleasure's rage?
Or haply, pressed with cares and woes,
Too soon you have begun
To wander forth, with me to mourn
The miseries of Man.

.
The sun that overhangs yonder moors,
Out-spreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to support
A haughty lordling's pride:
I have seen that weary winter sun
Twice forty times return;
And every time has added proofs,
That man was made to mourn.
.
'O Man! while in your thy early years,
How prodigal of time!
Mis-spending all thy precious hours,
Your glorious, youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway,
Licentious passions burn:
Which tenfold force gives Nature's law,
That Man was made to mourn.
.
Look not alone on youthful prime,
Or manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,
Supported is his right:
But see him on the edge of life,
With cares and sorrows worn;
Then Age and Want - O ill matched pair! -
Show Man was made to mourn.
.
'A few seem favourites of Fate,
In Pleasure's lap caressed;
Yet think not all the rich and great
Are likewise truly blessed:
But oh! what crowds in every land,
All wretched and forlorn,
Through weary life this lesson learn,
That Man was made to mourn.

.
'Many and sharp the numerous ills
Inter-woven with our frame!
More pointed still we make ourselves
Regret, remorse, and shame!
And Man, whose heaven-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,--
Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn!
.
'See yonder poor, over-laboured sturdy person,
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful, though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.
.
'If I am designed yonder lordling's slave-
By Nature's law designed-
Why was an independent wish
Ever planted in my mind?
If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty, or scorn?
Or why has Man the will and power
To make his fellow mourn?


'O Death! the poor man's dearest friend,
The kindest and the best!
Welcome the hour my aged limbs
Are laid with you at rest!
The great, the wealthy fear your blow,
From pomp and pleasure torn,
But, oh! a blessed relief to those
That weary laden mourn!'