Robert Burns

Thanks for posting the whole poem, New Haven. I only knew the first section.

This is one of my favorite poems.

Robert Burns Supper
Time to honor a short lived life of less than 40 years... Robert Burns, Greatest Scottish Poet. Loved and well-remembered... who could ask for anything more? Saturday, January 25th, 2003, where will you be? There is still time to make plans for yourself, meanwhile I dedicate the next week to songs, poems and stories by and about Robert Burns.

from www.robertburns.org

The Robert Burns Supper... is a "celebratory tribute to the life, works and spirit of the great Scottish poet, Robert Burns (1759-1796).

"Celebrated on, or about, the Bard's birthday, January 25th, Burns Suppers range from stentoriously formal gatherings of esthetes and scholars to uproariously informal rave-ups of drunkards and louts. Most Burns Suppers fall in the middle of this range, and adhere, more or less, to some sort of time honoured form which includes the eating of a traditional Scottish meal, the drinking of Scotch whisky, and the recitation of works by, about, and in the spirit of the Bard."

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gie's a hand o' thine!
And we'll tak' a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.

Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some would eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit.

Do we have to have haggis, Piffka?

Of course not... though it might not be as horrible as you'd think... You SHOULD have Scotch, though I suppose if you're on the wagon, you could make do with sparkling water. Sad, that.

I've had haggis. I'll stick to the Scotch!

Well, just so you're in the spirit of it all...

Will's Vegetarian (but authentic) Haggis

Ingredients:

100g barley
175g pinhead oatmeal
25g porridge (rolled) oats
1 heaping tbsp yeast extract (Marmite, Vegemite, etc.)
100g margarine (or substitute olive oil)
1 med-large onion
100g mushrooms
50g green lentils
50g red split lentils
100g beef-style crumbles (i.e. fake ground/minced beef)
300-500ml strong vegetable stock (add yeast extract or soya sauce to taste)
2 tbsp ground black pepper (or to taste)
2-3 tbsp mixed herbs (parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, etc -- to taste)
3 tbsp vegetarian Worcestershire sauce (or mushroom ketchup)
juice of 1/2 lemon or 1 juicy lime
1 tot of whisky - the peatier the better - and big! None o' yer wee English measures!
salt to taste
Directions:
100g = 4 oz.; 600ml = roughly a pint.

Americans may substitute soya sauce for yeast extract.

I've tried to get this recipe very consistent with the texture and flavour of original haggis. This means darker coloured and flavoured ingredients than appear in most veggie haggises, and no nuts or nut flakes.

1. In one pan, boil the barley for 30 mins. In another, boil green and red lentils for 30 minutes. Drain both barley and lentils well and reserve separately.

2. Melt 50 g margarine in a very large saucepan; then add barley, oats, and yeast extract. Saute for three minutes or so; then reserve in a bowl.

3. Chop onion and mushrooms fine. (I whiz them together in the food processor.) Melt the other 50 g margarine in the saucepan; then add onion, mushrooms, and fake beef. Cook for 2 or 3 minutes. Then add lentils and the oat/barley mixture. Mix up this lot well.

4. Gradually add vegetable stock till the mixture has a slightly juicy consistency – but not too watery! This can be trial-and-error. I find that roughly 300 ml works for me. But I always make up about 500 ml, just in case. You can also splash in a little extra olive oil if you think it’s needed. Mix in spices, whisky, juice, and worcester sauce – and do a bit of a taste test.

5. Once satisfied with the taste, cook the lot for about 5 extra minutes, stirring frequently. Then transfer to a casserole dish, cover with foil, mash down, and place in an oven pre-heated to Gas Mark 4 / 180 C / 350 F. Keep an eye on it in 20- to 30-minute intervals, and add stock if it dries out. I cook this for about an hour or an hour and a quarter. But times may vary greatly.

Traditionally served with bashet neeps and mashet tatties (mashed turnips/swede and mashed potatoes). I make a sauce of sauted onions, whisky, and cream to top the haggis; vegans can use other sauces, soya-cream, nothing at all. NB: if served on Burns Night (25 Jan.), Robert Burns’s “Address to a Haggis” must be read before anyone is allowed to eat! That’s the rules.

Recipe serves a small dinner-party. Refrigerates or freezes well. Re-heat in microwave or else wrap well and tight (and waterproof) in foil or other heat-sturdy casing, then cover with water and boil for about 45 minutes.

One advantage of serving veggie haggis is that squeamish meat-eaters are more likely to eat it than the original! (Personally, when I was a carnivore, I always loved a good old fashioned blood 'n' guts haggis, but that certainly can't be said of all my friends!)

Serves: small dinner party

Preparation time: 2 hours, on and off.

Address to a Haggis

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi perfect sconner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit:Thro bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

Wow, thanks, Piffka - that sounds much better than the original!

Holy Willie's Prayer
For today's selection... a pair of story poems, complete with explanatory notes! I hope you are amused. :wink:

Holy Willie was a rather oldish bachelor elder, in the parish of Mauchline, and much and justly famed for that polemical chattering, which ends in tippling orthodoxy, and for that spiritualized bawdry which refines to liquorish devotion. In a sessional process with a gentleman in Mauchline-a Mr.Gavin Hamilton-Holy Willie and his priest, Father Auld, after full hearing in the presbytery of Ayr, came off but second best; owing partly to the oratorical powers of Mr. Robert Aiken, Mr. Hamilton's counsel; but chiefly to Mr. Hamilton's being one of the most irreproachable and truly respectable characters in the county. On losing the process, the muse overheard him [Holy Willie] at his devotions, as follows:-

Holy Willie's Prayer
O Thou, who in the heavens does dwell,
Who, as it pleases best Thysel',
Sends ane to heaven an' ten to hell,
A' for Thy glory,
And no for ony gude or ill
They've done afore Thee!

I bless and praise Thy matchless might,
When thousands Thou hast left in night,
That I am here afore Thy sight,
For gifts an' grace
A burning and a shining light
To a' this place.

What was I, or my generation,
That I should get sic exaltation,
I wha deserve most just damnation
For broken laws,
Five thousand years ere my creation,
Thro' Adam's cause?

When frae my mither's womb I fell,
Thou might hae plunged me in hell,
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail,
In burnin lakes,
Where damned devils roar and yell,
Chain'd to their stakes.

Yet I am here a chosen sample,
To show thy grace is great and ample;
I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple,
Strong as a rock,
A guide, a buckler, and example,
To a' Thy flock.

O Lord, Thou kens what zeal I bear,
When drinkers drink, an' swearers swear,
An' singin there, an' dancin here,
Wi' great and sma';
For I am keepit by Thy fear
Free frae them a'.

But yet, O Lord! confess I must,
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust:
An' sometimes, too, in wardly trust,
Vile self gets in:
But Thou remembers we are dust,
Defil'd wi' sin.

O Lord! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg-
Thy pardon I sincerely beg,
O! may't ne'er be a livin plague
To my dishonour,
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg
Again upon her.

Besides, I farther maun allow,
Wi' Leezie's lass, three times I trow-
But Lord, that Friday I was fou,
When I cam near her;
Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true
Wad never steer her.

Maybe Thou lets this fleshly thorn
Buffet Thy servant e'en and morn,
Lest he owre proud and high shou'd turn,
That he's sae gifted:
If sae, Thy han' maun e'en be borne,
Until Thou lift it.

Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,
For here Thou hast a chosen race:
But God confound their stubborn face,
An' blast their name,
Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace
An' public shame.

Lord, mind Gaw'n Hamilton's deserts;
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes,
Yet has sae mony takin arts,
Wi' great and sma',
Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts
He steals awa.

An' when we chasten'd him therefor,
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,
An' set the warld in a roar
O' laughing at us;-
Curse Thou his basket and his store,
Kail an' potatoes.

Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r,
Against that Presbyt'ry o' Ayr;
Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare
Upo' their heads;
Lord visit them, an' dinna spare,
For their misdeeds.

O Lord, my God! that glib-tongu'd Aiken,
My vera heart and flesh are quakin,
To think how we stood sweatin', shakin,
An' p-'d wi' dread,
While he, wi' hingin lip an' snakin,
Held up his head.

Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try him,
Lord, visit them wha did employ him,
And pass not in Thy mercy by 'em,
Nor hear their pray'r,
But for Thy people's sake, destroy 'em,
An' dinna spare.

But, Lord, remember me an' mine
Wi' mercies temp'ral an' divine,
That I for grace an' gear may shine,
Excell'd by nane,
And a' the glory shall be thine,
Amen, Amen!



Epitaph On Holy Willie
Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay
Taks up its last abode;
His saul has ta'en some other way,
I fear, the left-hand road.

Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun,
Poor, silly body, see him;
Nae wonder he's as black's the grun,
Observe wha's standing wi' him.

Your brunstane devilship, I see,
Has got him there before ye;
But haud your nine-tail cat a wee,
Till ance you've heard my story.

Your pity I will not implore,
For pity ye have nane;
Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er,
And mercy's day is gane.

But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are,
Look something to your credit;
A coof like him wad stain your name,
If it were kent ye did it.

It is hard to find much information about Jessie Lewars except that she is buried very near to Burns in the Dumfries graveyard.

Complimentary Versicles To Jessie Lewars

The Toast
Fill me with the rosy wine,
Call a toast, a toast divine:
Giveth me Poet's darling flame,
Lovely Jessie be her name;
Then thou mayest freely boast,
Thou hast given a peerless toast.

Jessie's illness
Say, sages, what's the charm on earth
Can turn Death's dart aside!
It is not purity and worth,
Else Jessie had not died.

On Her Recovery
But rarely seen since Nature's birth,
The natives of the sky;
Yet still one seraph's left on earth,
For Jessie did not die.

The Menagerie
Talk not to me of savages,
From Afric's burning sun;
No savage e'er could rend my heart,
As Jessie, thou hast done:
But Jessie's lovely hand in mine,
A mutual faith to plight,
Not even to view the heavenly choir,
Would be so blest a sight.

_______

Inscription to Jessie Lewars

On a copy of the Scots Musical Museum,
in four volumes, presented to her by Burns.

THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair,
And with them take the Poet's prayer,
That Fate may, in her fairest page,
With ev'ry kindliest, best presage
Of future bliss, enroll thy name:
With native worth and spotless fame,
And wakeful caution, still aware
Of ills -- but chief, Man's felon snare;

All blameless joys on earth we find,
And all the treasures of the mind --
These be thy guardian and reward;
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard.

DUMFRIES, June 26, 1769.

First, re: the vegetarian haggis recipe. It sounds very good, but to get a really authentic taste, add a spoon of Jamaican All Spice (lol, sounds Scottish, eh? But seriously! It gives the true 'haggis' flavour!)

I have been enjoying re-reading Burns on this thread

Here is one of my favourites, 'A Man's A Man For A' That'. It was sung at the opening ceremony of the new Scottish Parliament in 1999, which devolved powers from Westminster (London).

A Man's A Man For A' That

(1795)

'Is there for honest Poverty
That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that.
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an' a that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man's a Man for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that:
The man o' independent mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That Man to Man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.'


Hope you all have a great Burns' Night tomorrow!

Excellent, ThinkZinc. It seems a wonderful thing that on this, Robert Burns birthday, so many people in Scotland, ahh, all but 152 are rejoicing in the Land Reform Bill. Maybe it is time for the common man and his common sense to prevail? Here's a Burns poem to celebrate...

The Young Highland Rover

Loud blaw the frosty breezes,
The snaws the mountains cover;
Like winter on me seizes,
Since my young Highland rover
Far wanders nations over.
Where'er he go, where'er he stray,
May heaven be his warden;
Return him safe to fair Strathspey,
And bonie Castle-Gordon!

The trees, now naked groaning,
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,
The birdies dowie moaning,
Shall a' be blythely singing,
And every flower be springing;
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day,
When by his mighty Warden
My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey,
And bonie Castle-Gordon.


A little bit o' mountain, a whole lot o' love....

Yon Wild Mossy Mountains

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde,
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed,
And the shepherd tends his flock as he pipes on his reed.
Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores,
To me hae the charms o'yon wild, mossy moors;
For there, by a lanely, sequestered stream,
Besides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.

Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path,
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath;
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove,
While o'er us unheeded flie the swift hours o'love.

She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair;
O' nice education but sma' is her share;
Her parentage humble as humble can be;
But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me.

To Beauty what man but maun yield him a prize,
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs?
And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darts,
They dazzle our een, as they flie to our hearts.

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond-sparkling e'e,
Has lustre outshining the diamond to me;
And the heart beating love as I'm clasp'd in her arms,
O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms!

Hope everyone enjoyed a long Burns weekend... here's a final thought:

A Bottle And Friend

There's nane that's blest of human kind,
But the cheerful and the gay, man,
Fal, la, la, &c.

Here's a bottle and an honest friend!
What wad ye wish for mair, man?
Wha kens, before his life may end,
What his share may be o' care, man?

Then catch the moments as they fly,
And use them as ye ought, man:
Believe me, happiness is shy,
And comes not aye when sought, man.

1787

Looks like you like Bobbie Burns as much as I do!

Yes, I do! :wink: And I think he would have been a nice man to know, too. Easy-going, loyal, funny, steady and clever.

From A Winter Night

Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost!
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows!
Not all your rage, as now united, shows
More hard unkindness unrelenting,
Vengeful malice unrepenting.
Than heaven-illumin'd Man on brother Man bestows!

piffka - have you read Tam o'Shanter??

it has some wonderful lines


'and like the snow. falls on the river, a moment there and gone forever'

and describing Tam's wife furious at home whiile he was out drinking 'nursing her wrath to keep it warm'

and a wonderful bit when he watcheds the witches dancing 'they danced the set, they crossed, they cleekit, til ilka carlin swat and reekit'

I'm going to need a translation for that last bit, Vivien!

mac - ok translation! :

they danced they set they crossed they cleekit - all moves in country dancing - can't remember what move cleekit was!! Tam o'Shanter had come upon a coven of witches dancing in their 'sarks' in the moonlight

Sarks - petticoats

ilka - each
carlin is a witch
swat is 'was sweating'
reekit - reeked, smelt strongly!

I went to school in the far north of Scotland for a couple of years and we did a lot of Burns and border ballads about the wicked English and the good Scots - tough when there were only a couple of us English in the class to argue the point!