Burns and Scott
Meeting of Burns and Scott in Edinburgh.
When Burns did make triumphant entry
'Mong Edina's famous gentry,
A discussion did there arise
Among those solons, learned and wise,
About some lines by a new poet ;
The author's name none did know it.
Poem was of Canadian snow,
And how o'er it the blood did flow,
For it had then been swept by war,
Where armies met in deadly jar.
But, 'mong philosphers, was boy
Of tender years, now Scotland's joy ;
He there did quickly quote each line,
And author's name he did define.
Burns glanced at him, with loving eyes,
Youth ever more that look did prize
The happiest moment in his lot ;
Ever revered by Walter Scott,
Thus Scotland's greatest poets met,
And they did part with sad regret.
poem by James McIntyre
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Related quotes
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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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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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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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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Hope Macniven
Mr. Hope Macniven, of Ingersoll, had the pleasure in his
younger days, during the first quarter of the present
century, of seeing and hearing many of the most eminent
men in Britain. He heard Doctor Chalmers and Edward Irving preach, before Irving went to London, where he became so famous ;
he saw on the stage those eminent tragedians, the elder and the younger
Kean; he was also fortunate enough to have seen Sir Walter Scott and
Thomas Campbell, the author of the 'Pleasures of Hope' and 'Exile of Erin ;'
And he also saw, in Glasgow, the distinguished author of 'Virginius,'
Sheridan Knowles, famous also man Elocutionist ; he had an opportunity of
frequently seeing Lord Brougham, and Lord Byron's friend, Sir John Cam.
Hobhouse ; he also beheld the burly figure of that bold champion of popular
rights, William Cobbett; and was in close intimacy with Henry Scott Riddel,
author of that magnificent song ' Scotland Yet,' Mr. Macniven sent a copy
of his poems to that distinguished statesman, W. E. Gladstone, and received
a letter of thanks, under the seal of the Royal arms, with the Premier of Great
Britain's autograph attached; he received a similar mark of favor from Lord
Lorne. Mr. Macniven has had the honor of conversing with the brillant D'Arcy
MacGee, and of an intimate acquaintance with A. McLauglan and Evan McCol,
and Hamilton's sweetest song writer, William Murray. The late Mrs. Macniven
published a small volume of poems some 20 years ago.
poem by James McIntyre
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North Atlantic Drift
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Its a cultural shift its the North Atlantic Drift
Americana and a rule Britannia
And the moon yes we own that to
And where the Euphrates meets the other rivers
Is now the home of the devil and the liar
And the pyre we plan to make
Is just the drift leaving its wake, home
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
And the films you want to watch
And the films you want to make
And the kids like lost angels
Dressed in black sensations
And the shift won? shake
And the drift won? brake
With billions of Diamonds growing like olives
And the drift holds the coffers
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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World's worst poetry sold for $12,840
now, mine shall sell at
$15,000 per line.
EDINBURGH, Scotland – The vocabulary is poor and the rhyme excruciating but a collector paid $12,840 Friday for original works by William Topaz McGonagall, internationally celebrated as the worst poet ever to assault the English language.
Up for auction was a collection of 35 poems McGonagall self-published in the 1890s, in which he rambles about everything from a theatre fire and the life of Robert Burns to women's suffrage and Britain's imperial wars. Bad as it was, it did not reach the top estimate of $15,600 at the sale, conducted by Edinburgh auctioneers Lyon & Turnbull.
Still, McGonagall's work outstripped a collection of rare and inscribed Harry Potter books by Edinburgh resident J.K. Rowling, which fetched $12,000 at the same sale.
McGonagall's lack of talent was matched only by his delusion and ego. Along with the 35 poems were a portfolio of posters and two copies of his rather short autobiography – 'dedicated to himself, knowing none greater.'
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The London Flood
From the long, continuous rains,
O'erflowing were the swamps and drains,
For each day had its heavy shower,
Torrents fell for many an hour.
At London, where two branches join,
It seem'd two furies did combine
For to spread far both death and woe,
With their wild, raging overflow.
E'en houses did on waters float
As though each had been built for boat,
And where was health, and joy and bloom
Soon naught but inmates for the tomb;
Flood o'erflowed both vale and ridges
And swept railroads, dams and bridges.
A mother climbed in tree to save
Her infant from a watery grave,
But on the house you saw its blood,
Where it was crushed 'gaist tree by flood.
Where cottages 'mong gardens stood
'Tis covered o'er with vile drift wood,
O'er flowers and bushes you may travel
For they are buried under gravel ;
Or, you may walk o'er barren sand,
The crops washed out and fertile land.
Two funerals we at once did see
Of one family, who lost three.
No longer river's deep and wide,
But gently flows to distant tide.
What is called in Canada a 'creek ' is Scotland called
a 'burn.'
'The muse, nae poet ever fand her;
Till by himself he learned to wander
Adown some trotting burn's meander.' -BURNS.
poem by James McIntyre
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Sober
Royal Canadian blended
The spicy aroma had mended me
Matured for years and imported
Into my glass you poured it
And you're the only reason
That I remain unfrozen
Suppose it stands to reason
That you would turn on me
You're so solid
You're so solid
It burns inside of me
Cause you're so solid
It burns inside of me
The wild turkey's been chosen
Its caramel nose could smell me
Arbourler/Jameson I love you
The single malts came burning
And you're the only reason
That I remain unfrozen
Suppose it stands to reason
That you would turn on me
You're so solid
You're so solid
It burns inside of me
Cause you're so solid
It burns inside of me
Royal Canadian Blended
The spicy aroma had mended me
And you're the only reason
That I remain unfrozen
Suppose it stands to reason
That you would turn on me
You're so solid
You're so solid
It burns inside of me
Cause you're so solid
It burns inside of me
song performed by by Muse from Showbiz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thomas Campbell
As musings on Banks of Canadian Thames doth not necessarily consist of
meditations in verse, but the monotony of the cogitations may be relieved by a
soliloquy in prose, and as Campbell manifested a deep interest in American subjects,
we will give the following anecdote related by that genial American Author Washington
Irvine, to Sir Walter Scott. Irvine, while in Britian, visited Campbell, but found him absent
and he expressed a regret to Campbells wife that her husband did not write more. She said
that he was timid and he felt Byron and Scott o'ershadow him with their great poems. Sir
Walter replied, ' I myself produce pebbles, Scottish pebbles, but Campbell is the creator of
Diamonds of the first water.' Byron also expressed himself in a similar strain as follows :-
'Arise, O Campbell, give thy talents scope ;
Who dares aspire if thou has ceased to hope '
Campbell wrote thus of America in the beginning of the century, and by comparing the facts
as he describes them it shows the wonderous strides which the United States, especially,
have taken on the Banks of Lake Erie, as Lake Ontario seems to be favorite location for
Canadian cities.
On Erie's banks were tigers steal along,
And the dread Indian chaunts his dismal song.
Where human fiends their midnight errand walk ;
And bathe in brains the murderous tomehawk.
The poet then predicts that cities will there arise, but more wonderfully quick they have
arisen then poets pen ever imagined. The poet also imagines the time will come when the
fleecy flocks will be straying o'er the thymey pastures and the shepherds dancing at early
morn and dewy eve, but alas, these predictions have never been verified, for the lands on
Erie's shores are too valuable for sheep walks, and it is no Arcadian bower where the
romance of the dreamy imaginations of the ancient philosophers are being enacted, but a
vigorous, intelligent, and industrious population have arisen, who have built villages,
towns and cities along its shores. But the foundation of the whole prosperity is the
intelligent, well directed industry of the farming population.
Their industry is not in vain,
For they have bounteous crops of grain,
And you behold on every field
Of grass and roots, abundant yield ;
But after all the greatest charm
Is the snug home upon the farm.
And stone walls now keep cattle warm,
The cold blast now doth them no harm.
poem by James McIntyre
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In Search Of Aphrodite
A Sideline Sonnet
(letters on the left side of the poem make the 15th line, which is also written out in parenthesis at the end of the poem) This poem, instead of being displayed with either 12 lines on the left margin, with the 13th and 14th lines indented in modern format, or with the first 8 lines on the left margin, a line skipped and then the next 4 lines on the left margin with the couplet indented in the style most commonly used in the days of Shakespeare, will be posted in 4 line stanzas to make it easier to read the side line, which will be three 4 letter words, and one 2 letter word.
May I behold a girl this fair:
A girl whose presence makes a light;
Kindles a flame that burns so bright
Eclipses it the moon. With hair
Lost stars that from the heavens fall –
On falling do submit their glow,
Vile stars, on one I cannot know.
Enraptured though, I make the call.
While all my starving total seeks,
In endless hunger, for the dear
Temptation that, though hov'ring near,
Hears not my voice: yet not she speaks.
May I but see her, then will I
Entreat her, listen to my cry…
(make love with me)
poem by James Walter Orr
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For Scotland
Beyond the Cheviots and the Tweed,
Beyond the Firth of Forth,
My memory returns at speed
To Scotland and the North.
For still I keep, and ever shall,
A warm place in my heart for Scotland,
Scotland, Scotland,
A warm place in my heart for Scotland.
Oh, cruel off St. Andrew's Bay
The winds are wont to blow!
They either rest or gently play,
When there in dreams I go.
And there I wander, young again,
With limbs that do not tire,
Along the coast to Kittock's Den,
With whinbloom all afire.
I climb the Spindle Rock, and lie
And take my doubtful ease,
Between the ocean and the sky,
Derided by the breeze.
Where coloured mushrooms thickly grow,
Like flowers of brittle stalk,
To haunted Magus Muir I go,
By Lady Catherine's Walk.
In dreams the year I linger through,
In that familiar town,
Where all the youth I ever knew,
Burned up and flickered down.
There's not a rock that fronts the sea,
There's not an inland grove,
But has a tale to tell to me
Of friendship or of love.
And so I keep, and ever shall,
The best place in my heart for Scotland,
Scotland, Scotland,
The best place in my heart for Scotland!
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Burning Calories
The burning
comes from walking
your fingers on the keys.
The blogging
burns from writing
creative breeze.
The googling
burns from sighting
many Titties and kitties.
The Twittering
Well I don't twitter
What burns better?
The Iphone4 or Apple?
So the Apple it is
that burns better.
Well, I rather,
that is,
eat the Apple,
or make Zapple,
-a detoxing drink.
And subtlety wink.
High fiber in turn,
can really burn.
Weirdo
The other day I came across
Someone I knew and he was lost
I dont care what we have done
You never will believe it
Its a life thats made for me
Where I can be completely free
So long as I obey this sound
That echoes all around
Just like the ocean or the sea
Just like the blood that burns in me
Someone like you cannot be free
Just like a lock without a key
Just like the ocean or the sea
Just like the blood that burns in me
Someone like you cannot be free
Just like a lock without a key
Just like the ocean or the sea
Just like the blood that burns in me
Someone like you cannot be free
Just like a lock without a key
Just like the ocean or the sea
Just like the blood that burns in me
Someone like you cannot be free
Just like a lock without a key
So, I thought this cannot be
Theres someone else in here with me
I dont care where we have been
You never will believe it
I know you and you know me
And were as happy as we can be
I know where this world belongs
It dont mean much to me
Just like the ocean or the sea
Just like the blood that burns in me
Someone like you cannot be free
Just like a lock without a key
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire
The purling sound
Of soft wind in the trees
The wonder of the Pneuma
That hints of heat in the breeze,
The source of the burning bush
And the floating dove
The true trust ever present
In the greatest of pain...
And even so in greater love.
All that blows so quietly by
Is a holy-fire, living and alive,
A consuming fire
With passion pushed ever higher;
It burns and it turns
All around and all new
Scants of mystery are found
In all that is transient and true;
It transforms and transcends
It burns and it bends...
And when it is finished,
Nothing old shall be left
Of what once was you.
' Poets are used to discovering, years after a poem is written, what it's really about. ' - Kathleen Norris.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Burns, And Burns, And Burns....
the poet burns, and burns, and burns...
warm your feet, cook your meal,
read by this light...
tell the ones you love
that you love them...
here where shadows cannot destroy...
take the bread of this body,
and feed just one of the hungry...
take these eyes, let humanity see justice.
take these feet, and walk the path.
take these hands and build a home.
take this heart, and love your neighbor...
take these wings, fly free at last!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Ancestors (Quatrain)
In bonny Scotland by the bay
Where Celtic Fairies love to play
My sweet family waits for me
hovering around the big Oak Tree.
poem by Heather Burns
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An author ought to write for the youth of his own generation, the critics of the next, and the schoolmaster of ever afterwards.
quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire Burns! Fire Burns!
If you like you can enquire
There are rings of fire
There are hearts on fire
There are desert, grass and bush fires
Burning with a red hot rage on a different stage
They burn and mature that one can only admire
O! Fire O! Fire
My heart is on fire
Inside my soul a little flame has transpired
Have my words mis-fired while I speak of fire?
Fire burns like a scorching red-hot sun
And when fire burns its impact is sometimes no fun
Fire burns! Fire burns!
People die, people cry, people sigh
Fire run, run and run
Let's take turns to run before we turn into a bun
When you play with fire your hands will burn
When you lay with fire, heads will surely turn
Fire burns! Fire burns!
A hand pulls a gun and fires
A man goes to work and gets fired
And while I tire, I ask myself am I a liar?
For I speak of the uncontrollable forest fires
That cannot be announced by any town crier
A little spark
A brittle panic attack
A burning flame
A red-hot blaze
In seconds fire can take out an entire space
Fire burns! Fire burns!
And while the fire transpires
I can see the fire in your eyes
A hot passionate desire that flies and flies
And the fire burns and burns
Run, run and run for heads will turn
And the heat will rise like the scorching sun
Fire burns! Fire burns!
I ask silently for a ceasefire
For fire only ignites to inspire more misery
And out of that misery are born some high fliers
Run, run and run for heads will turn
And whatever burns can never be undone
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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