This week’s poems were all written by the national poet of Scotland, Robert Burns, who is celebrated on 25 January by a supper of haggis, neeps (turnips) and tatties (potatoes) and plentiful helpings of whisky. Burns is remembered on these occasions by the Selkirk Grace, the “Address to the Haggis” which is read when the haggis is cut open, and a series of toasts “to the lassies”, “to the laddies” and most importantly “to the immortal memory”, an opportunity to review the life and poetry of this preeminent poet. At the end of the supper, “Auld Lang Syne” is sung.
One of my fondest memories is the Burns suppers that were held for many years in our village hall, celebrations that followed the outline above and were always well attended and great fun.
For those unacquainted with Scots, I have provided an English version of each poem to help.
I’d like to thank my friends Hazel and Kevin for inspiring this week’s choice.
Poem 133. The Selkirk Grace
But we hae meat and we can eat,
Robert Burns (1759—1796)
Sae let the Lord be thankit
Scots
Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit.
English
Some have meat and cannot eat,
And some can eat that want it,
But we have meat and we can eat,
So let the Lord be thankèd.
This is a simple poem of thanksgiving for having food on the table and being able to eat it.
It was probably collected by Burns in his hobby of recording and popularising Scots folk songs and verse. He apparently delivered it at a dinner given by the Earl of Selkirk, which explains its popular name but it is also known as the “Galloway Grace” or the “Covenanters’ Grace”.
Links
- Read about the Selkirk Grace on Wikipedia.
Poem 134. Address to a Haggis
Great chieftain o’ the puddin’-race!
Robert Burns (1759—1796)
Aboon them a’ ye tak yer place
Scots
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the puddin’-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak yer place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o’ a grace
As lang’s my airm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dicht,
An cut you up wi ready slicht,
Trenching your gushing entrails bricht,
Like onie ditch;
And then, Oh what a glorious sicht,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmaist, on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes believe
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
‘Bethankit’ hums.
Is there that ower his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit:
Thro bloody flood or field to dash,
Oh how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his wallie nieve a blade,
He’ll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.
Ye Pow’rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if Ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!
English
Good luck to you and your honest, plump face,
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Above them all you take your place,
Stomach, tripe, or intestines:
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.
The groaning trencher there you fill,
Your buttocks like a distant hill,
Your pin would help to mend a mill
In time of need,
While through your pores the dews distill
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour wipe,
And cut you up with ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like any ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm steaming, rich!
Then spoon for spoon, the stretch and strive:
Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
Till all their well swollen bellies by-and-by
Are bent like drums;
Then old head of the table, most like to burst,
‘The grace!’ hums.
Is there that over his French ragout,
Or olio that would sicken a sow,
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust,
Looks down with sneering, scornful view
On such a dinner?
Poor devil! see him over his trash,
As feeble as a withered rush,
His thin legs a good whip-lash,
His fist a nut;
Through bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit.
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his ample fist a blade,
He’ll make it whistle;
And legs, and arms, and heads will cut off
Like the heads of thistles.
You powers, who make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill of fare,
Old Scotland wants no watery stuff,
That splashes in small wooden dishes;
But if you wish her grateful prayer,
Give her [Scotland] a Haggis!
This is traditionally read following the piping in—the ceremonial entrance of the haggis on a salver, accompanied by a Scots bagpiper playing a traditional air. The speaker generally draws and sharpens a knife on the line “His knife see rustic Labour dicht” and plunges it into the haggis, cutting it open on the line “An’ cut you up wi’ ready slicht”. Once the speaker finishes, the haggis is toasted with whisky, and the meal begins.
Links
- Read the Address to the Haggis on the Alexandria Burns Club’s website.
Poem 135. Auld Lang Syne
we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
Robert Burns (1759—1796)
for auld lang syne.
Scots
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 jo,
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 gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak’ a right gude-willie waught,
for auld lang syne.
[Chorus]
English
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?
Chorus:
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely you’ll buy your pint cup!
and surely I’ll buy mine!
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
[Chorus]
We two have run about the hills,
and picked the daisies fine;
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.
[Chorus]
We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.
[Chorus]
And there’s a hand my trusty friend!
And give me a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.
[Chorus]
This is, of course, the traditional ending to the New Year’s festivities as well as a Burns supper. For those in doubt, the word “syne” is pronounced “sign” and means “since”.
The song celebrates the shared history of those singing it and toasts them with a “cup o’ kindness” for the sake of all the old times; even though there may be deep divisions between them, the singers can still shake one another’s hands in a spirit of fellowship and good-will.
Links
- Read about the poem on Wikipedia.