"Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Ayrshire on the 25th January 1759. Every year in and around the 25th January the world celebrates the life and work of the most famous of all Scottish poets, Robert Burns 'The Bard' (1759-1796) by having Burns Suppers.
Every Burns Supper has its own special form and flavour, but they all share the common purpose of honouring the Bard. They range from extremely formal occasions to informal rave ups of drunkards and louts, they all follow the same basic principles, the eating of a Scottish meal (Haggis, Mince, Tatties and Neeps), the drinking of barrel loads of Scotch whisky, and the recitation of Burn's Songs and Poetry."
robert burns wrote, what is for me the most beautiful line of poetry ever written.
from To A Louse comes:
"O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!"
here's the whole thing. enjoy:
To A Louse by Robert Burns
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze and lace,
Tho'faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.
Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner,
Detested, shunned by saint an' sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her --
Sae fine a lady!
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.
Swith! in some begger's hauffet squattle:
There ye may creep and sprawl and sprattle,
Wi'ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now haud you there! ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils, snug and tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right
Till ye've got on it--
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height
O' Miss's bonnet.
My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an' grey as onie grozet;
O for some rank, mercurial rozet;
Or fell red smeddum,
I'd gie ye sic a heartly dose o't,
Wad dress your droddum.
I wad na been suprised to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On 's wyliecoat;
But Miss's fine Lunardi! fye!
How daur ye do't?
O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An, set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin'!
Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin'!
O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as inthers see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion;
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion!
alasdair
Every Burns Supper has its own special form and flavour, but they all share the common purpose of honouring the Bard. They range from extremely formal occasions to informal rave ups of drunkards and louts, they all follow the same basic principles, the eating of a Scottish meal (Haggis, Mince, Tatties and Neeps), the drinking of barrel loads of Scotch whisky, and the recitation of Burn's Songs and Poetry."
robert burns wrote, what is for me the most beautiful line of poetry ever written.
from To A Louse comes:
"O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!"
here's the whole thing. enjoy:
To A Louse by Robert Burns
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze and lace,
Tho'faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.
Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner,
Detested, shunned by saint an' sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her --
Sae fine a lady!
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.
Swith! in some begger's hauffet squattle:
There ye may creep and sprawl and sprattle,
Wi'ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now haud you there! ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils, snug and tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right
Till ye've got on it--
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height
O' Miss's bonnet.
My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an' grey as onie grozet;
O for some rank, mercurial rozet;
Or fell red smeddum,
I'd gie ye sic a heartly dose o't,
Wad dress your droddum.
I wad na been suprised to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On 's wyliecoat;
But Miss's fine Lunardi! fye!
How daur ye do't?
O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An, set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin'!
Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin'!
O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as inthers see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion;
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion!
alasdair
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