Robert Burns (January 25, 1759 – July 21, 1796), also known as Rabbie Burns, the Bard of Ayrshire and various other names and epithets, was a Scottish poet and lyricist. He is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland and is celebrated worldwide. He is the best known of the poets who have written in the Scots language, although much of his writing is also in English and a light Scots dialect, accessible to an audience beyond Scotland. He also wrote in standard English, and in these writings his political or civil commentary is often at its bluntest.
He is regarded as a pioneer of the Romantic movement, and after his death he became a great source of inspiration to the founders of both liberalism and socialism, and a cultural icon in Scotland and among the Scottish diaspora around the world. Celebration of his life and work became almost a national charismatic cult during the 19th and 20th centuries, and his influence has long been strong on Scottish literature. In 2009 he was chosen as the greatest Scot by the Scottish public in a vote run by Scottish television channel STV. (Click here for full Wikipedia article)
A gaudy dress and gentle air
May slightly touch the heart;
But it's innocence and modesty
that polished the dart.
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress;
A brother to relieve,—how exquisite the bliss!
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
Beauty's of a fading nature
Has a season and is gone!
But pleasures are like poppies spread—
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river—
A moment white—then melts forever.
Dare to be honest and fear no labor.
Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire,
That's a' the learning I desire.
God knows, I'm no the thing I should be,
Nor am I even the thing I could be.
I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union.
Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn.
Man was made to Mourn.
Nae man can tether time or tide.
That man was made to mourn.
O, wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne!
Suspense is worse than disappointment.
Suspicion is a heavy armor and with its weight it impedes more than it protects.
The best laid schemes o' mice and men
Gang aft a-gley;
And leave us naught but grief and pain
For promised joy.
The heart benevolent and kind
The most resembles God.
To see her is to love her,
And love but her forever;
For Nature made her what she is,
And never made anither!
When Nature her great masterpiece designed,
And framed her last, best work, the human mind,
Her eye intent on all the wondrous plan,
She formed of various stuff the various Man.
Where sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things,
The fate of empires and the fall of kings;
While quacks of State must each produce his plan,
And even children lisp the Rights of Man;
Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention,
The Rights of Woman merit some attention.
An Englishman is being shown around a Scottish hospital. At the end of
his visit, he is shown into a ward with a number of patients who show no
obvious signs of injury. He goes to examine the first man he sees, and
the man proclaims: "Fair fa' yer honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain e'
the puddin' race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, painch tripe or
thairm: Weel are ye wordy o' a grace as lang's my arm." The Englishman,
somewhat taken aback, goes to the next patient, and immediately the
patient launches into: "Some hae meat, and canna eat, And some wad eat
that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, And sae the Lord be
thankit." This continues with the next patient: "Wee sleekit cow'rin
tim'rous beastie, O what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start
awa sae hasty, Wi bickering brattle. I wad be laith to run and chase
thee, Wi murdering prattle!" "Well," the Englishman mutters to his
Scottish colleague, "I see you saved the psychiatric ward for the last."
"Nay, nay," the Scottish doctor corrected him, "this is the Serious
(via Rampant Scotland)
Categories: Robert Burns