Robbie's Statue
Grown tired of mourning for my sins—
And brooding over merits—
The other night with bothered brow
I went amongst the spirits;
And I met one that I knew well:
‘Oh, Scotty’s Ghost, is that you?
‘And did you see the fearsome crowd
‘At Robbie Burns’s statue?
‘They hurried up in hansom cabs,
‘Tall-hatted and frock-coated;
‘They trained it in from all the towns,
‘The weird and hairy-throated;
‘They spoke in some outlandish tongue,
‘They cut some comic capers,
‘And ilka man was wild to get
‘His name in all the papers.
‘They showed no gleam of intellect,
‘Those frauds who rushed before us;
‘They knew one verse of “Auld Lang Syne—”
‘The first one and the chorus:
‘They clacked the clack o’ Scotlan’s Bard,
‘They glibly talked of “Rabby;”
‘But what if he had come to them
‘Without a groat and shabby?
‘They drank and wept for Robbie’s sake,
‘They stood and brayed like asses
‘(The living bard’s a drunken rake,
‘The dead one loved the lasses);
‘If Robbie Burns were here, they’d sit
‘As still as any mouse is;
‘If Robbie Burns should come their way,
‘They’d turn him out their houses.
‘Oh, weep for bonny Scotland’s bard!
‘And praise the Scottish nation,
‘Who made him spy and let him die
‘Heart-broken in privation:
‘Exciseman, so that he might live
‘Through northern winters’ rigours—
‘Just as in southern lands they give
‘The hard-up rhymer figures.
‘We need some songs of stinging fun
‘To wake the States and light ’em;
‘I wish a man like Robert Burns
‘Were here to-day to write ’em!
‘But still the mockery shall survive
‘Till the Day o’ Judgment crashes—
‘The men we scorn when we’re alive
‘With praise insult our ashes.’
And Scotty’s ghost said: ‘Never mind
‘The fleas that you inherit;
‘The living bard can flick them off—
‘They cannot hurt his spirit.
‘The crawlers round the bardie’s name
‘Shall crawl through all the ages;
‘His work’s the living thing, and they
‘Are fly-dirt on the pages.’
poem by Henry Lawson
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Related quotes
The Old Armchair
In all the pubs from Troon to Ayr
Grandfather's father would repair
With Bobby Burns, a drouthy pair,
The glass to clink;
And oftenwhiles, when not too "fou,"
They'd roar a bawdy stave or two,
From midnight muk to morning dew,
And drink and drink.
And Grandfather, with eye aglow
And proper pride, would often show
An old armchair where long ago
The Bard would sit;
Reciting there with pawky glee
"The Lass that Made the Bed for Me;"
Or whiles a rhyme about the flea
That ne'er was writ.
Then I would seek the Poet's chair
And plant my kilted buttocks there,
And read with joy the Bard of Ayr
In my own tongue;
The Diel, the Daisy and the Louse
The Hare, the Haggis and the Mouse,
(What fornication and carouse!)
When I was young.
Though Kipling, Hardy, Stevenson
Have each my admiration won,
Today, my rhyme-race almost run,
My fancy turns
To him who did Pegasus prod
For me, Bard of my native sod,
The sinner best-loved of God -
Rare Robbie Burns.
poem by Robert William Service
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On Reading Poems And Songs Of Burns
The poems and songs of Robert Burns are still living
And though his body died more than two hundred years ago
His spirit and his soul will live forever
You will find them where the Afton Waters flow.
He was the pride of Scotland Robert Burns
The greatest of his clan and of his race
And along with Walter Scott he ranks as his Country's greatest
And in literature he commands the highest place.
'For Auld Lang Syne' will surely live forever
As Robert Burns gift to the New Year
When you attend a new year celebration
More likely than not Lang Syne you will hear.
His great poems To a Mouse and To a Mountain Daisy
His haunting ballad to his Red Red Rose
The great poet living in his songs and verses
And the legend that grew with him grows and grows.
You see the music in the poems of Burns
He was more than a peasant man of rhyme
He was a humanitarian and a great poet
The lesser bards have faded out in time.
He died in poverty but he is famous
His songs and verses known and sung World-wide
The fame of Burns will live on forever
He brought to Scotland patriotic pride.
From Alloway In Ayrshire Robert Burns
His legacy the marvellous gift of song
The Scottish his birthday and birthplace honour
But to all peoples his verses belong.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Statue of Robert Burns
To a town in Southern land
Light of purse I come and lone;
And I pause awhile, and stand
By a pedestal of stone;
And I bend my head and bow
While my heart to Scotland turns,
For I know I’m standing now
‘Neath the form of Robbie Burns.
Round the corners of the lips
Lines of laughter seem to run;
From the merry eye there slips
Just a twinkle as of fun.
Living in the sculptor’s art,
Set in stone, mine eye discerns
All the beauty, and a part
Of the soul, of Robert Burns.
One of Caledonia’s sons,
Coming lonely to the land.
Well might think he’d met a friend
Who would take him by the hand,
And the tears spring to his eyes,
While his heart for friendship yearns;
And from out that heart he cries,
“Heaven bless ye, Bobbie Burns.”
“Unto me, as unto you,
Has a hard world done ill turns;
And the sorrows that you knew
I am learning Bobbie Burns.
But I’ll keep my heart above
Until, after many moons,
I return to friends I love,
And to banks line bonnie Doon’s.”
poem by Henry Lawson
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Auld Lang Syne
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and 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.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stoup !
and surely I’ll be mine !
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
CHORUS
We twa hae run about the braes,
and pou’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin’ auld lang syne.
CHORUS
We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin’ auld lang syne.
CHORUS
And there’s a hand my trusty fiere !
and gies a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll tak a right gude-willie waught,
for auld lang syne.
CHORUS
poem by Robert Burns
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Auld Lang Syne
(r.burns)
Traditional new years eves song. jeff performed it live at mercury lounge, new york, on december 31 1995.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And auld lang syne!
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
Well tak a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
And surely yell be your pint stowp
And surely Ill be mine!
And well tak a cup o kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
Well tak a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes
And poud the gowans fine
But weve wanderd mony a weary fit
Sin auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
Well tak a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidld in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine
But seas between us briad hae roard
Sin auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
Well tak a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
And theres a hand, my trusty fere
And gies a hand o thine
And well tak a right gude-willie waught
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
Well tak a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oor Rabbie's The Man For A' That
The Twenty Fifth of January 1759,
A talent was born who'll forever shine,
Though his life would be full of twists and turns,
There'd be no better writer than our own Robert Burns.
Rabbie Burns our national bard,
If you gave him an inch he'd take a yard,
His love of women caused a few stares,
As he carried on his illicit affairs.
He'd have loved to have been a man of leisure,
Surrounded by women that was his pleasure,
Contrary to what some people may think,
He was never that fond of the demon drink.
For the whole of his life he was forever in vogue,
A Jack the lad a loveable rogue
But one thing you can never take away,
Is the words he wrote will forever hold sway.
'‘Scots Wha Hae'' is a poignant verse,
When read, in it's content you will soon immerse,
That is the gift of a brilliant writer,
They can make you feel you are that fighter.
With his God given talent for poems and songs,
In our memories forever is where he belongs,
He tragically died just aged thiry seven,
The Lord must have needed his talents in heaven.
The day of his funeral was not quite forlorn,
On that very day his son Maxwell was born,
As Rabbie would've said, before I go,
Trust one of my children to steal the show.
His poems and songs forever sublime,
Have proven they can stand the test of time,
Over two hundred years after his death,
His words are as popular as Shakespeares Macbeth.
The titles he wrote like''Auld Lang Syne''
Mean his popularity will never decline,
His writings will live forever more,
The poems and songs will keep him to the fore.
If Rabbie Burns were alive today,
I think I know just what he would say,
The women are gorgeous the worlds deranged,
From my time till now nothing much has changed.
So as you sit and enjoy your haggis dinner,
Think of the poet not the sinner,
So all please stand and doff your hat,
‘' Oor Rabbie's The man For A' That ‘'
Love Burns
See what you do
You make me act so crazy
I'm overcome, I know
Stealin' my own show
For your love
And who am I now, Clown or Casanova
I'm never sure with you
And what more can I do
For your love burns
Warmer than you know
When love burns,
Never let it go away
And where do we go
Find a road to lead us
I'm searching in your eyes
A world beyond the skies
For your love burns
Brighter than you know
When love burns,
Never let it go away
Love burns
Brighter than you know
Oh, love burns
Never let it go away
Love burns when the spirit is wounded
Cut deep by the sound of rejection
Love burns in the soul of the seeker
Blue shadows in every direction
Love burns when the heart is uncovered
In the rage of the coldly storm
Love burns
Through the night and the morning
Till the frozen heart is warm
Love burns
Love burns
Love burns
Love burns
(Tom HensleyAlan Lindgren)
Album: On They Way To The Sky
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't have anything that I treasure at all. They're just things. I tend to buy an awful lot of stuff, like clothes and things. But I wouldn't be bothered if my house burns down tomorrow.
quote by Robbie Williams
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Bobbie' for Brotherhood
Lang syne I penned a mickle rhyme
That muckle grief brocht to my soul;
For critics said 'twas aye a crime
Nae Scottish patriot could thole
Whit way I ca'ed their honored bard,
Wi' kind intention, 'Bobbie' Burns.
Aye, mon, they smote me fine an' hard
Wi' sic' fierce words as nae yin learns
Save native sons, those braw, stern men
O' mountain crag an' heather glen.
Misdoubtin' whit my critics said,
An' sair distressed aboot my plight,
A notion cam' intil my head
To haud a Scottish plebiscite.
Forbye I passed frae Scot to Scot
Spierin' whit way they named their bard,
An' aye the same reply I got
Wi'out dispute in sic' regard;
For ilka mon gie'd answer straight
Wi' ne'er a thocht tae heesitate.
A mon frae Glasea first I speired,
A humble an' unlettered loon,
An' then a scholar, red o' beard,
That cam' from Edinburgh toon;
A Hielan' chief, a rowan' chiel,
Men oot o' Leith an' Aberdeen,
Tae ane an' a' I made appeal,
Tae gowk an' greybeard, wife an' wean,
An' a', wi' unanimity
The selfsame answer gi'ed tae me.
An 'twas na' Robert, Rab or Rob
They ca'ed yon braw, poetic yin
That wakes in Scottish hearts a throb
Wi' words that mak' the whole world kin.
They named him 'Bobbie' wi'out shame,
As Bobbie he will ever be
To sic' as scorn to clothe his name
Wi' smug respectabeelity.
To humble hearts his songs defend
Beloved Bobbie, brither, friend.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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11 Minus 2
I am living closer to a bard whose mind is afar off with wisdom!
But i always lay low to learn from him;
Because, his words touches me like the songs of the lovely birds around.
I am sitting here with the bard today,
But i am 11 minus 2 years old! !
Yes, very young to learn from him all year round,
And his wisdom is all that i need to imperove on my status-que in life.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Merry Bard
ZULEIKAH! The young Agas in the bazaar are slim-wasted and wear
yellow slippers. I am old and hideous. One of my eyes is out, and
the hairs of my beard are mostly gray. Praise be to Allah! I am a
merry bard.
There is a bird upon the terrace of the Emir's chief wife. Praise
be to Allah! He has emeralds on his neck, and a ruby tail. I am a
merry bard. He deafens me with his diabolical screaming.
There is a little brown bird in the basket-maker's cage. Praise be
to Allah! He ravishes my soul in the moonlight. I am a merry bard.
The peacock is an Aga, but the little bird is a Bulbul.
I am a little brown Bulbul. Come and listen in the moonlight.
Praise be to Allah! I am a merry bard.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Robert Burns
The following ode was delivered by the author at the Centennial Anniversary
of Burns, Ingersoll, in presence of a large assembly in the year 1859:
This night shall never be forgot,
For humble life none now despise,
Since Barns was born in lowly cot,
Whose muse's wing soared to the skies.
'Round Scotia's brow he wove a wreath
And raised her name in classic story,
A deathless fame he did bequeath,
His country's pride, his country's glory.
He sang her hills, he sang her dales,
Of Bonnie Doon and Banks of Ayr,
Of death and Hornbrook, and such tales
As Tam O'Shanter and his mare.
He bravely taught that manly worth
More precious is than finest gold ;
He reckoned not on noble birth,
But noble deeds alone extolled.
Where will we find behind the plow
Or in the harvest field at toil
Another youth, sweet bard like thou
Could draw the tear or raise the smile.
We do not think 'twas Burns fault,
For there were no teetotalers then,
That Willie brewed a peck of malt,
And Robbin preed like other men.
'Tis true he loved the lasses dear,
But who for this would loudly blame,
For Scotia's maids his heart did cheer,
And love is a true heavenly flame.
So here we've met in distant land
Poor honest Robin to extoll,
Though oft we've differed,
Let us stand united now in Ingersoll.
Burns sang so sweet behind the plow,
Daisies well wreath around his brow,
Musing, on thee, what visions throng
Of floods you poured of Scottish song
Scott, he did write romancing rhymes
Of chivalry of ancient times.
For tender feeling none can cope
With Campbell, the sweet Bard of hope.
Eye, with sympathetic tear in
We'll shed it for exile of Erin,
And Tannahil, while at his loom,
Wove flowers of song will ever bloom.
Hogg, Ettrick shepherd, did gain fame
By singing when the Kie comes hame,
With good time coming Bard McKay
Still merrily doth cheer the way.
poem by James McIntyre
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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,
Well take a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
We twa hae run aboot the braes
And poud the gowans fine;
Weve wanderd mony a weary foot
Sin auld lang syne.
We two hae paidled i the burn,
Frae mornin sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roard
Sin auld lang syne.
And heres a hand, my trusty friend,
And gies a hand o thine;
Well take a cup o kindness yet
For 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,
Well take a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
Well take a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Robert Burns
Immortal Robert Burns of Ayr,
There's but few poets can with you compare;
Some of your poems and songs are very fine:
To "Mary in Heaven" is most sublime;
And then again in your "Cottar's Saturday Night,"
Your genius there does shine most bright,
As pure as the dewdrops of the night.
Your "Tam O'Shanter" is very fine,
Both funny, racy, and divine,
From John O'Groats to Dumfries
All critics consider it to be a masterpiece,
And, also, you have said the same,
Therefore they are not to blame.
And in my own opinion both you and they are right,
For your genius there does sparkle bright,
Which I most solemnly declare
To thee, Immortal Bard of Ayr!
Your "Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doon"
Is sweet and melodious in its tune,
And the poetry is moral and sublime,
And in my opinion nothing can be more fine.
Your "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled"
Is most beautiful to hear sung or read;
For your genius there does shine as bright,
Like unto the stars of night
Immortal Bard of Ayr! I must conclude my muse
To speak in praise of thee does not refuse,
For you were a mighty poet, few could with you compare,
And also an honour to Scotland, for your genius it is rare.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Open Casket Affinity
The fire he sees
Is brighter than any other he's seen before
It's brilliant and bright and it burns deep and red and all at once he's in love.
It's only then he sees the girl it belongs to.
And then he reaches out;
His fingers dance over the flames;
But
The fire dulls and so does she
And she
Was nothing like the grim expression she wore;
She was life itself.
She was living, breathing, brilliant life
It was just a shame that she was no longer living.
But she breathed
She breathed and spoke and walked and slept
And she looked at him
Both with those lovely green eyes
And
With her fire burning behind her
And
Still
She did not live.
But she kissed him
And her kisses ached
The burning intensity which she gave them with
The fire both in her hair and in her kisses reminded him that she was burning
She was a flame
His flame
But in the same sense she was cold and not here and not so much broken as nothing at all.
Each time he saw her
He felt he was seeing a ghost
The ghost burned a dull flame
The fire's final whispers were like a sad sonnet to him;
This dead girl he loved was its ashes
After a slow path of destruction and recklessness
She lay in its wake
The ashes were the distance in her eyes;
The smoke her lies that slip her tongue unnoticed.
He felt he was staring straight in to a coffin
Her open casket;
And he was in love
With the flames
Sometimes forgetting the girl they belonged to.
The way she looks at him;
Wordless
She tells him
Let me go
And love me
Please
Love
Me
But then she's dancing all at once
And hardly moving at all
But the fire is burning
It's burning again and all at once she's both alive and living again;
And he see's the love in her eyes and all at once he understands
The city
She's gone
And she is in love.
poem by Dayna Mortimore
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Me & My Shadow
Me and my shadow
(duet with jonathan wilkes)
Written by dave dreyer, al jolson and billy rose
[spoken]
Robbie: (american accent) johnny and robbie
Jonathon: what you talking like that for, youre from stoke!
Robbie: I dunno but I cant stop here pally
Like the wallpaper sticks to the wall
Like the c sharp clings to the c
Like youll never get rid of your shadow
Youll never get rid of me
Let all the others fight and fuss
Whatever happens, weve got us.
[me and my shadow]
Were closer than pages that stick in a book
Were closer than ripples that flow in a brook
[strolling down the avenue]
Wherever you find him, youll find me, just look
Closer than a miser or the bloodhounds to liza
Me and my shadow
Were closer than smog to all of l.a.
Were closer than ricky to confessing hes gay? ?
Not a soul can bust this team in two
We stick together like glue
And when its sleeping time
Thats when we rise
We start to swing
Our clocks dont chime
What a surprise
They ring-a-ding-ding!
Happy new year!
[me and my shadow]
And now to repeat what I said at the start
Theyll need a large crowbar to break us apart
Were alone but far from blue
Before we get finished, well make the town roar
Well hit a few late spots, and then a few more
Well wind up at stringys and maybe ? show
Life is gonna be we-wow-whee!
For my shadow and me!
[spoken]
Jonathon: can we do that again
Robbie: no, Im too tired
Jonathon: please rob
Robbie: no, Im swung out
Jonathon: Ill give you some money
Robbie: I dont need money
Jonathon: what about a cup of tea
Robbie: not thirsty
Jonathon: Ill wont tell anyone youre gay.
(both laugh)
Before we get finished, well make the town roar
Well hit all the late spots, and then a few more
Well wind up at stringys and maybe ? show
Life is gonna be we-wow-whee!
For my shadow and me!
song performed by by Robbie Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Heart Burns and Melts
My heart burns and melts with a pain and sickness
unlike this world has seen
for the tears and cries and pain and hurt of loved ones
my heart burns and melts with the ugliness which paints this world
a gloomy gray for the greed, violence, hate, and prejudice
which plaques our world
my heart burns and melts for the tired, hungry, weak, and poor
for the wars that slaughters billions and families
that are torn apart by lust and greed and jealously and hate
my heart burns and melts with a passion as strong as incense
as we live our lives in sin and vain without a care in the world
for the world we live in is cold as ice and the world is dark as pitch
for my heart burns and melts with a passion of pain and sadness
as my heart burns and melts like ice
for my heart burns and melts for the sick and needy of the world
for the broken hearts out there who need healing
for my heart burns and melts with a passion as strong as love itself
in hoping that one day the world will a happier place
enriched in golden bliss of happiness and peace on earth
for my heart burns with a passion for a dream
that's as sweet as love itself in all its beauty
poem by Brett Strotman
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Lines of South Scotland
The South of Scotland did produce
Heroic Wallace and the Bruce,
And even time will never blot
The record of her Burns and Scott,
And Tannahil renowned Bard,
And that sweet songster Ettrick, shepherd.
poem by James McIntyre
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Scotland
As I walked the streets of Scotland
I was the tourist from a different land
Where the skirts are worn by the man
And their ways of life I try to understand.
Where golf was invented and so was Peter pan
Also was whiskey and the Scottish clan
Where Jekyll and Hyde had first began
And where Robert the Bruce once did stand.
As I strolled the streets of Dalkeith
I smiled at the Scots that I did meet
Their ways of life I found strange but unique
Where the mind is strong and the souls not weak.
At the churches I heard the pastors preach
Then in the pubs at night more souls they'd teach
Religion and salvation is out of no ones reach
So they passed another verse and a pint to me.
As I roamed the streets of Edinburgh
Seeing the castle upon its perch
The Poets and authors which I did search
While listening to the music and the word.
Where the Bard Robert Burns once did work
Also the killing fields of Hare and Burke
Where the Greyfrairs Bobby once did lurk
And also the the home of the Presbyterian Kirk.
As I walked the streets of Dalkeith
I Remembered the lassies that I did meet
Then upon the streets of Edinburgh
Where my knowledge of poetry was given birth
I had walked the streets alone in Scotland
Where history and beauty I held its hand
Now I am back home in the United States
I realize Scotland, she was my destiny and my fate.
poem by Randy McClave
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Poet And Peer
They asked the Bard of Ayr to dine;
The banquet hall was fit and fine,
With gracing it a Lord;
The poet came; his face was grim
To find the place reserved for him
Was at the butler's board.
So when the gentry called him in,
He entered with a knavish grin
And sipped a glass of wine;
But when they asked would he recite
Something of late he'd chanced to write
He ettled to decline.
Then with a sly, sardonic look
He opened up a little book
Containing many a gem;
And as they sat in raiment fine,
So smug and soused with rosy wine,
This verse he read to them.
'You see yon birkie caw'ed a Lord,
Who struts and stares an' a' that,
Though hundreds worship at his word
He's but a coof for a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
A man's a man for a' that.
He pointed at that portly Grace
Who glared with apoplectic face,
While others stared with gloom;
Then having paid them all he owed,
Burns, Bard of Homespun, smiled and strode
Superbly from the room.
poem by Robert William Service
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