ROBERT BURNS, the Ploughman Poet Robert Burns, Scotland’s

ROBERT BURNS, the Ploughman Poet

Robert Burns, Scotland's favourite son, the Ploughman Poet, the Bard of Ayrshire was born in January 25, 1759 two miles south of Ayr, in Alloway, South Ayrshire, Scotland. Robert was the eldest of the seven children of William Burness, a farmer, and Agnes Broun. Burns grew up in poverty and hardship, and the severe manual labour of the farm left its traces in a premature stoop and a weakened constitution. He had little regular schooling and got much of his education from his father, who taught his children reading, writing, arithmetic, geography, and history After a few years of home education, Burns was sent to Dalrymple Parish School during the summer of 1772 before returning at harvest time to full-time farm labouring until 1773, when he was sent to Lodge for three weeks to study grammar, French, and Latin.

Robert Burns began writing poetry at the age of 15. 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. Burns is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland, and a pioneer of the Romantic movement. His influence has been strong on Scottish literature. As well as making original compositions, Burns also collected folk songs from across Scotland, often revising or adapting them. Burns Cottage in Alloway, Scotland Brig O'Doon, Alloway

His poem (and song) Auld Lang Syne is often sung at Hogmanay (New Year), and Scots Wha Hae served for a long time as an unofficial national anthem of the country. Other poems and songs of Burns that remain well-known across the world today, include A Red, Red Rose, A Man's A Man for A' That, To a Louse, To a Mouse, The Battle of Sherramuir, Ae Fond Kis and others.

My Heart's In The Highlands Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. Farewell to the mountains, high-covered with snow, Farewell to the straths and green vallies below; Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods, Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

A Red, Red Rose This is surely the most famous love poem and a well-known song, which women particularly enjoy O, my Luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June. O, my Luve's like a melodie That's sweetly played in tune. As fair as thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will love thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt with sun: And I will love thee still, my dear, While the sands of life shall run: And fare thee well, my only luve! And fare thee weel, a while! And I will come again, my luve, Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.

Of a' the airts This short poem is devoted to Burns’ wife, Jean Armour, and is a declaration of his love for her. Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie lives, The lassie I love best. There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And monie a hill between, But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever with my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers - I see her sweet and fair. I hear her in the tuneful birds - I hear her charm the air. There's not a bonie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonie bird that sings, But minds me of my Jean.

My Father Was a Farmer My father was a farmer Upon the Carrick border And carefully he bred me In decency and order He bade me act a manly part, Though I had never a farthing For without an honest manly heart, No man was worth regarding Then out into the world My course I did determine Tho' to be rich was not my wish, Yet to be great was charming My talents they were not the worst, Nor yet my education Resolved was I, at least to try, To mend my situation In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's favour Some cause unseen still stept between, To frustrate each endeavour Sometimes by foes I was overpowered, Sometimes by friends forsaken And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken.

Then sore harass'd, and tired at last, With fortune's vain delusion I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, And came to this conclusion The past was bad, and the future hid; Its good or ill untried But the present hour, was in my power And so I would enjoy it. No help, nor hope, nor view had I, Nor person to befriend me So I must toil, and sweat and broil, And labour to sustain me To plough and sow, to reap and mow, My father bred me early For one, he said, to labour bred, Was a match for fortune fairly. Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, Thro' life I'm doomed to wander Till down my weary bones I lay, In everlasting slumber No view nor care, but shun whatever Might breed me pain or sorrow I live today as well as I may, Regardless of tomorrow But cheerful still, I am as well, As a monarch in a palace Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down, With all her wonted malice I make indeed my daily bread, But never can make it farther But, as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money Some unforeseen misfortune Comes generally upon me Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, Or my goodnatured folly But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll never be melancholy All you who follow wealth and power, With unremitting ardour The more in this you look for bliss, You leave your view the farther Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, Or nations to adorn you A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you.

Although Burns lived a short life, dying at the age of 37, it was fulfilling and eventful. Starting out as a farmer then moving on to become a writer, Burns travelled throughout Scotland where he gathered inspiration for much of his work. The stunning Ayrshire scenery and the romantic setting of Dumfries helped provide the insight for compiling much of his romantic material Dumfries, St Michael's Church, Burial Place of Robert Burns Robert Burns died in this house in Dumfries in 1796 Robert Burns Mausoleum at St Michaels churchyard in Dumfries.

Today, throughout Scotland there are landmarks, museums and visitor centres all dedicated to the life and work of Robert Burns. Burns Monument, Kay Park Kilmarnock The Burns Monument in Alloway The National Burns Memorial at Mauchline Statue of Burns in Dumfries town center.

BURNS NIGHTS After his death on 21 July 1796, Burns enthusiasts around the world have been celebrating his life and his genius each year at or around his birth date. This first recorded Burns celebration was held in July 1801 on the anniversary of his death. Later it would change to the evening of the anniversary of his birth and would become "Burns Night" with the focal point being the "Burns Supper“.

Burns Supper The Burns Supper is an institution of Scottish life: a night to celebrate the life and works of the national Bard. Suppers can range from an informal gathering of friends to a huge, formal dinner full of pomp and circumstance. The items which suppers have in common are haggis, Scotch whisky, Burns poems and songs, dancing and some traditional pipe music.

At the end of the party everyone is asked to stand, join hands, and sing Auld Lang Syne which brings the evening to an end. Auld Lang Syne Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days of auld lang syne! For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll take a cup of kindness yet, For auld lang syne. And here's a hand, my trusty friend! And gives a hand o’thine! We'll take a a cup of kindness yet, For auld lang syne. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll take a cup of kindness yet, For auld lang syne.