Friday, 25 January 2013

January 25th



The Bard's birthday.  The greatest poet produced in this land, a great man, a womaniser, a customs official, a farmer's boy and a drunk!  Yet many in then Church of Scotland consider him a saint!  Robert Burns was a thinking man as well as a natural poet.  He indicated his feelings in poetry, not always to others liking, and once he had tasted the Edinburgh high life as well as their high ladies he returned to where he was more at home.  Robert Burns




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12 comments:

soubriquet said...

I do not share your enthusiasm for Robbie.

Helen said...

In my father's regiment 'defaulters' was signalled by the playing of
'A man's a man for a' that'....

I miss haggis. I used to make my own and would again if I could get my hands on a sheep.

Adullamite said...

Soub, Philistine!

Helen, Tinned is acceptable, but private butchers is much better.

Lee said...

A man of many talents and one who has remained for many years, and without any doubt, for many, many to come, if only to some for being the man who penned Auld Lang Syne in 1788!

Mine are forgotten within the hour...if that long! lol

Adullamite said...

Lee, A great man, a Scot!

Relax Max said...

Were I in proper condition last night, I'd have posted my toast to your bard sooner, at least before midnight, along with this extra Afton verse I composed whilst still in a Burns Night stuperous state.

Flow gently sweet Afton, my Mary’s passed out,
Twas turnips and whiskey and haggis, no doubt;
O’er haggis left over and tatties we watch,
But Mary now stirring goes staight for the scotch.

Adullamite said...

WHISKY does NOT have an 'E.'

Flow gently sweet Afton, here comes yon Max,
When he is aboot ye can never relax.
His tongue is as sharp as a big butchers knife
And his wit makes me feel he is the bane o ma life!

Relax Max said...

The good stuff has an E. The Irish kind. :)

You're amazing. You're a poet and don't know it but your feet show it - they're Longfellows. Thank you for letting me use that 4th grade joke about Longfellow.

Relax Max said...

Someone wanted to get their hands on a sheep? Show them, Aduallamite.

Adullamite said...

Ma, Irish? That's stolen from Scotland and rebottled!

Ma, Helen has sufficient sheep in Costa Rica.

bigrab said...

I think this is my favourite few lines of Burns (from Tam o' Shanter)

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You sieze the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white–then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow’s lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.–

Adullamite said...

Rab, Lovely.