Rabbie Burns, 1759-1796

Aye, it’s BURNS DAY!

Today begins celebrations all over Scotland honoring the birth of the 18th century Scottish poet, Robert Burns (or as they call him here, “Rabbie.”). Much of Burns’ poetry is rather long and sentimental, with a militantly enforced rhyme, as was all the verse of his time. Many of his verses refer to specific people and things that few people who aren’t Scottish historians of a certain period understand anymore. He writes a lot of elegiac verses to Nature, Love, various “Lasses” and a lot of prayers and religious verse, though he just as frequently writes scandalous lines on how much he hates church and prefers and honest drink (though he really was rightfully disdainful of the organized religion of the day). He wrote scathingly funny epitaphs, numerous songs, (of which the traditional Auld Lang Syne is only one), the enormously famous verse to to a mouse, the one about “luve” being like a “red, red rose,” which is responsible for so much Valentine’s Day dreck, the wonderful social commentary of To a Louse (On seeing one in a lady’s bonnet at church), and lines to a haggis — that, yes, people declaim tonight – on Burns’ Night. And in honor of his birthday, we present this little glimpse from his collected works, courtesy of Project Gutenberg.

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Epitaph On A Lap-Dog Named Echo (1793)

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng,

Your heavy loss deplore;

Now, half extinct your powers of song,

Sweet Echo is no more.

Ye jarring, screeching things around,

Scream your discordant joys;

Now, half your din of tuneless sound

With Echo silent lies.

Paraphrase Of The First Psalm (1781)

The man, in life wherever plac’d,

Hath happiness in store,

Who walks not in the wicked’s way,

Nor learns their guilty lore!

Nor from the seat of scornful pride

Casts forth his eyes abroad,

But with humility and awe

Still walks before his God.

That man shall flourish like the trees,

Which by the streamlets grow;

The fruitful top is spread on high,

And firm the root below.

But he whose blossom buds in guilt

Shall to the ground be cast,

And, like the rootless stubble, tost

Before the sweeping blast.

For why? that God the good adore,

Hath giv’n them peace and rest,

But hath decreed that wicked men

Shall ne’er be truly blest.

We especially chuckled at the second one — Glaswegians, should take note! The “ways” here are still just horrible and potholed, but it really doesn’t stop raining long enough to get them fixed…

ANYWAY! It’s apparent from just this small sampling that Burns had a wide range. At times flippant and insulting, at times sentimental or religious, these poems and more give us a priceless vision of the everyday life and vociferous opinions of an 18th century Scotsman, and give us something to recite as we celebrate Burns Night this weekend with our friends. And though we’ve found a recipe for vegetarian haggis, we’ll probably definitely have one when Van’s here( — have to give him the full Scots experience, after all!).

Though we will likely never be as wild about Burns as our fellow Scots, we are gaining an appreciation for his wit and his clever-tongued countrymen. Happy Burns Day! Cheers!

– D & T

Burn Engraving courtesy of Encyclopedia Britannica.