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Robert Burns
SCOTTISH POET ROBERT BURNS ( 1759-1796)
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Robert Burns (1759-1796),
“A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose highest ambition is to sing in his country’s service, where
shall he so properly look for patronage as to the illustrious names of his native land: those who bear the honours and inherit
the virtues of their ancestors? The poetic genius of my country found me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha—at
the plough, and threw her inspiring mantle over me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures
of my native soil, in my native tongue; I tuned my wild, artless notes as she inspired.” --ROBERT BURNS, Edinburgh,
April 4, 1787.
From the grand website Robert Burns - Biography and Works Literature online
So here's a couple of Robert Burns' poems which are as relevant as ever. (They are adapted into English from the Scottish
dialect )
Robert Burns Scottish Poet, The Bard born January 25, 1759
Died july 25, 1796.
For more see the rather large website Burns Country: Official Robert Burns site
Anyway this poem " Such a parcel of rogues " by Robert Burns is about the Sottish Lords who betrayed their nation to the English
for property , power & gold. It is an apt & even today a relevant theme about those who are willing to sell out their own
countrymen for the right price.
Such a parcel of rogues
Farewell to(all)our Scottish fame,
Farewell our ancient glory;
Farewell even to the Scottish name,
So famed in martial story.
Now Sark flows over Solway sands,
And Tweed flows to the ocean,
To mark where England's province stands-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!
What force or guile could not subdue,
Through many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few,
For hireling traitor's wages.
The English ( still) we could disdain,
Secure in valour's station;
But English gold has been our bane-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!
O would, (before) I had seen the day
That Treason thus could sell us,
My old grey head had lain in clay,
with Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But without pith and power, till my last hour,
I'll (make) this declaration;
We're bought and sold for English gold-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!
The second poem is one of hope & a vision for a better world.
A Man's A Man For All That
1795
Is there for honest Poverty
That hangs his head, and all that;
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for all that!
For all that, and all that.
Our toils obscure and all that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, (pennies copper)
The Man's the gold for all that.
What though on humble fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey ( like a sage), an' a that;
Give fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man's a Man for all that:
For all that, and all that,
Their tinsel show, and all that;
The honest man, though ever so poor,
Is king of men for all that.
Ye see (yonder) birkie, called a lord,
Who struts, and stares, and all that;
Though hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof (fool ) for all that:
For all that, and all that,
His ribband, star, and all that:
The man of independent mind
He looks and laughs at all that.
A prince can make a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and all that;
But an honest man is beyond his might,
Good faith, he musn't forget for all that!
For all that, and all that,
Their dignities and all that;
The pit of sense, and pride of worth,
Are higher rank than all that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for all that,
That Sense and Worth, over all the earth,
Shall ( spread ), and all that.
For all that, and all that,
It's coming yet for all that,
That Man to Man, the world over ,
Shall brothers be for all that.
Robert Burns Country: The Burns Encyclopedia
'The Tree of Liberty'
(Here printed for the first time, from a manuscript in the possession of Mr James Duncan, Mosesfield [sic] near Glasgow.)
"Heard ye o' the tree o' France,
I watna what's the name o't;
Around it a' the patriots dance,
Weel Europ kens the fame o't.
It stands where ance the Bastille stood,
A prison built by kings, man,
When superstition's hellish brood
Kept France in leading strings, man.
"Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit,
Its virtues a' can tell, man,
It raises man aboon the brute,
It maks him ken himsel, man.
Gif ance the peasant taste a bit,
He's greater than a Lord, man,
And wi' the beggar shares a mite
O' a' he can afford, man.
"This fruit is worth a' Aric's wealth,
To comfort us 'twas sent, man:
To gie the sweetest blush o' health,
And mak us a' content, man.
It clears the een, it cheers the heart,
Maks high and low gude friends, man;
And he wha acts the traitor's part,
It to perdition sends, man.
"My blessings aye attend the chiel,
Wha pities Gallia's slaves, man,
And staw'd a branch, spite o' the deil,
Frae yont the western waves, man.
Fair virtue water's it wi' care,
And now she sees wi' pride, man,
How weel it buds and blossoms there,
Its branches spreading wide, man.
"But vicious folk aye hate to see
The works o' virtue thrive, man;
The courtly vermin's banned the tree,
And grat to see it thrive, man;
King Loui' thought to cut it down,
When it was unco sma',. Man,
For this the watchman cracked his crown,
Cut off his head and a' man.
"A wicked crew syne, on a time,
Did tak a solemn aith, man,
It ne'er should flourish to its prime,
I wat they pledged their faith, man,
Awa they gaed wi' mock parade,
Like beagles hunting game, man,
But soon grew weary o' the trade,
And wished they'd been at hame, man.
"Fair freedom, standing by the tree,
Her sons did loudly ca', man,
She sang a song o' liberty
Which pleased tehm ane and a', man.
By her inspired the new born race
Soon grew the avenging steel, man;
The hirelings ran — her foes gied chase
And banged the despot weel, man.
"Let Britain boast her hardy oak,
Her poplar and her pine, man,
Auld Britain ance could crack her joke,
And o'er her neighbours shine, man,
But seek the forest round and round,
And soon 'twill be agreed, man,
That sic a tree can not be found,
Twixt London and the Tweed, man.
"Without this tree, alake this life
Is but a vale o' woe, man;
A scene o' sorrow mixed wi' strife,
Nae real joys we know, man,
We labour soon, we labour late,
To feed the titled knave, man;
And a'the comfort we're to get
Is that ayont the grave, man.
"Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow,
The warld would live in peace, man;
The sword would help to mak a plough,
The din o' war wad cease man.
Like brethren wi' a common cause,
We'd on each other smile, man;
And equal rights and equal laws
Wad gladden every isle, man.
"Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat
Sic halesome dainty cheer, man;
I'd gie my shoon frae aff my feet,
To taste sic fruit, I swear, man.
Syne let us pray, auld England may
Sure plant this far-famed tree, man;
And blythe we'll sing, and hail the day
That gave us liberty, man."
Robert Burns is now considered a pioneer in the Romantic, socialist, and liberalism movements. While he often wrote with light-hearted
humour, some of his works with their universal humanistic appeal contributed to his becoming a Scottish cultural icon. Burns'
“Scots Wha Hae” (1793) served as an unofficial national anthem for many years. Inspired by his admiration of 13th
century patriot William Wallace and his demise by the English, he penned it after the charge of sedition and trial of Thomas
Muir. It is written in the form of a speech given by Robert the Bruce before the battle of Bannockburn, during which Scotland
regained its independence from England;
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to Victorie!
Now's the day, and now's the hour:
See the front o' battle lour,
See approach proud Edward's power -
Chains and Slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha will fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha, for Scotland's King and Law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or Freeman fa',
Let him on wi' me!
By Oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow! -
Let us do or die!
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