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Robert Burns, Scotlands Bard and Most Famous Son....

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Old 8th January 2005, 20:25
Talisker-Himself Talisker-Himself is offline
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Now that Rabbie's birthday is approaching (Jan 25th) how about a thread of some your FAVOURITE Burns poems...
Is there many of you that attends "Burns Suppers" in your own part of the world?

Please feel free to add one of your favourites here or even just a verse.

Here is a wee poem in the "STYLE" of Burns that I have enjoyed, I hope you will too....




TAE A FERT

Oh what a sleekit horrible beastie
Lurks in yer belly efter the feastie
Just as ye sit doon among yer kin
There sterts tae stir an enormous wind
The neeps and tatties and mushy peas
Stert workin like a gentle breeze
But soon the puddin wi the sauncie face
Will have ye blawin all ower the place
Nae matter whit the hell ye dae
A'bodys gonna have tae pay
Even if ye try tae stifle
Its like a bullet oot a rifle
Hawd yer bum tight tae the chair
Tae try and stop the leakin air
Shift yersel fae cheek tae cheek
Pray tae God it disnae reek.
But aww yer efforts go asunder
Oot it comes like a clap o thunder
Ricochets aroon the room
Michty me a sonic boom
God almighty it fairley reeks
Hope I huvnae shat ma breeks
Tae the bog I better scurry
Aww whit the hell, its no ma worry.
A'body roon aboot me chokin
Wan or two are nearly bokin
Ill feel better for a while
Cannae help but raise a smile
Wis him! I shout with accusin glower
Alas too late, he's just keeled ower
Ya durty buggar they shout and stare
Ah dinnae feel welcome anymair
Where e're ye go let yer wind gan' free
Sounds like just the job fur me
Whit a fuss at Rabbies perty
Oower the sake o' wan wee ferty.

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Old 8th January 2005, 20:39
Talisker-Himself Talisker-Himself is offline
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AE FOND KISS

Robert Burns (1759-1796)

E fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae farewell, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!

Who shall say that Fortune grieves him
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy;
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love for ever.

Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met--or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae farewell, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!
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Old 8th January 2005, 20:43
Talisker-Himself Talisker-Himself is offline
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AULD LANG SYNE


OR auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine,
And we'll take a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne!

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine,
But we've wander'd monie a weary foot
Sin' auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl'd in the burn
Frae mornin sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin' auld lang syne.

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine,
And we'll take a right quid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne!

Chorus

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne!

Some of you maybe not recognise the name "Burns" but most of us sing his song every New Year at midnight
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Old 8th January 2005, 22:40
MDempsey MDempsey is offline
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Ok, well here is one that I enjoy....



O were my Love yon Lilac fair

O WERE my Love yon lilac fair,
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring,
And I a bird to shelter there,
When wearied on my little wing;
How I wad mourn when it was torn
By autumn wild and winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing
When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.

O gin my Love were yon red rose
That grows upon the castle wa',
And I mysel a drap o' dew,
Into her bonnie breast to fa';
O there, beyond expression blest,
I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light.


Robert Burns 1759-1796


[Edited by MDempsey on 8th January 2005 at 22:58]
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Old 11th January 2005, 22:28
keelie keelie is offline
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Robert Burns, Scotlands bard and most famous son

Hiya!
A happy new year!

Elspeth in the barley.
(The Bard’s disappointment.)

Fair whappit oot when the hervest’s o’er.
A man fairly builds up a heid or twa o’ steam.
Thinkin’ o’ the lassies o’ the sweetest flower.
Elspeth in the barley in her gunny goon o’ green.
Ye’re a hoot, Rab. Ye’re a hoot.

Fair fu’ tae burstin’ wi’ haggis an’ wi’ neeps.
An’ an awfy peculiar feelin’ deep within my troosers.
Ninemile Bar’s where my bonnie lassie sleeps.
Efter I’ve feenished tourin’ roon the boozers.
Ye better scoot, Rab. Ye better scoot.

Fair drunk wi’ passion wis my unsteady gait.
The lovely Elspeth Buchan wis my awfy tasty bait.
Wi’ my frame sae fu’ o’ longin’ her.
Tae be lyin’ doon ding dongin’ her.
Ye’re a brute, Rab. Ye’re a brute.

Fairly excited wis my arisen state.
As I traipsed like a stallion tae Elspeth Buchan’s gate.
Up tae the gunnels wi’ my belly fu’ o’ Guinness.
Jist tae be telt by yon eegit Andrew Innes.
She’s oot, Rab. She’s oot.


Cheers.
Keelie.
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Old 25th January 2005, 19:33
ScottishOrca ScottishOrca is offline
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Seems fitting for today, don't you think?


Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, cheerful

Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!

Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Above

Painch, tripe, or thairm: paunch/guts

Weel are ye wordy of a grace worthy

As lang's my arm.



The groaning trencher there ye fill,

Your hurdies like a distant hill, buttocks

Your pin wad help to mend a mill skewer

In time o' need,

While thro' your pores the dews distil

Like amber bead.



His knife see rustic Labour dight, wipe

An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, skill

Trenching your gushing entrails bright Digging






Like onie ditch;

And then, O what a glorious sight,

Warm-reekin, rich! -steaming



Then, horn for horn, they strech an' strive: spoon

Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,

Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve, bellies/soon

Are bent like drums;

Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, burst

'Bethanket!' hums.



Is there that owre his French ragout

Or olio that wad staw a sow, sicken

Or fricassee wad mak her spew

Wi' perfect sconner, disgust

Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view

On sic a dinner?





Poor devil! see him owre his trash,

As feckless as a wither'd rash, weak/rush

His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,

His nieve a nit; fist/nut

Thro' bluidy 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, choice

He'll make it whissle;

An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, trim

Like taps o' thrissle. tops/thistle



Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,

And dish them out their bill o'fare,

Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware watery

That jaups in luggies; splashes/porringers

But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,

Gie her a Haggis!
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Old 12th February 2005, 00:12
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Scottish_Republican Scottish_Republican is offline
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Ae fond kiss and her head sever'd...
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