Robert Burns Poetry Bot

command, Harmoniously, As arts or arms they understand, Their labours ply. "They Scotia's race among them share; Some fire the soldier on to dare;

low! I come to give thee such reward As we bestow. "Know, the great genius of this land, Has many a light aërial band, Who, all beneath his high

elder sister's air She did me greet. "All hail! My own inspired bard! In me thy native Muse regard! Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, Thus poorly

DUAN SECOND With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, I view'd the heavenly-seeming fair; A whisp'ring throb did witness bear Of kindred sweet, When with an

standing by, To hand him on, Where many a Patriot-name on high And hero shone.

all its source and end to draw; That, to adore. Brydone's brave ward[27] I well could spy, Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye; Who call'd on Fame, low

Lines etched on a window at Wingate’s Inn, Stirling, 26 August 1787 Robert Burns Here Stewarts once in triumph reign’d, And laws for Scotland’s weal ordain’d; But now unroof’d their Palace stands, Their Sceptre’s fall’n to other hands; Fall’n indeed, and to the Earth Whence grovelling reptiles take their birth. The injur’d STEWART-line are gone, A Race outlandish fills their throne: An idiot race, to honour lost— Who know them best despise them most.

In Stirling, possibly while fu, Robert Burns wrote these lines on a window at Wingate’s Inn, Stirling. In 1787 this kind of anti-Hanoverian #poem could be seen as treasonous, & he went back later & smashed the glass – but not before someone had copied it down
#WyrdWednesday #C18 #graffiti #poetry

“The best laid schemes o’ mice and men,
Gang aft a-gley…”
Robert Burns, national poet of Scotland, whose ‘lost portrait’ was recently discovered; painted in 1803 by respected Scottish artist Sir Henry Raeburn, born #OTD 1756.
Blackie House Museum & Library, Edinburgh

Dispensing good. With deep-struck, reverential awe,[26] The learned sire and son I saw, To Nature's God and Nature's law, They gave their lore, This,

romantic grove,[25] Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, (Fit haunts for friendship or for love,) In musing mood, An aged judge, I saw him rove,

ashes lowly laid, I mark'd a martial race portray'd In colours strong; Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd They strode along. Thro' many a wild

I Murder Hate Robert Burns I murder hate by flood or field, Tho’ glory’s name may screen us; In wars at home I’ll spend my blood— Life-giving wars of Venus. The deities that I adore Are social Peace and Plenty; I’m better pleas’d to make one more, Than be the death of twenty. I would not die like Socrates, For all the fuss of Plato; Nor would I with Leonidas, Nor yet would I with Cato: The zealots of the Church and State Shall ne’er my mortal foes be; But let me have bold Zimri’s fate, Within the arms of Cozbi!

In 1787, Robert Burns acquired a diamond-tipped pen which he used to inscribe poems on windows & chimney-pieces across Scotland. “I Murder Hate” is Burns’s version of “make love, not war” #graffiti, & was etched into a window at the Globe Tavern, Dumfries
#WyrdWednesday #C18 #poem #poetry

who glorious fell, In high command; And He whom ruthless fates expel His native land. There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade[24] Stalk'd round his

back-recoiling seem'd to reel Their southron foes. His Country's Saviour,[21] mark him well! Bold Richardton's[22] heroic swell; The chief on Sark[23]

The Burns Supper at 225 Years: Global Community Online Gathering An online gathering to celebrate 225 years of the Burns Supper and discuss its nomination to the Inventory of Living Heritage in the UK

The Burns Supper at 225 Years
A free online gathering to celebrate 225 years of the Burns Supper & discuss its nomination to the Inventory of Living Heritage in the UK

To facilitate international participation there are 2 DATES: 9 March, 7–8 AM GMT:
1/2
www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/the-burns-...

feature stern. My heart did glowing transport feel, To see a race[20] heroic wheel, And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel In sturdy blows; While

palace fair, Or ruins pendent in the air, Bold stems of heroes, here and there, I could discern; Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, With

borough rear'd her head; Still, as in Scottish story read, She boasts a race, To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, And polish'd grace. By stately tow'r, or

Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, On to the shore; And many a lesser torrent scuds, With seeming roar. Low, in a sandy valley spread, An ancient

foam; There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, The lordly dome. Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods; There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds:

well-known land. Here, rivers in the sea were lost; There, mountains to the skies were tost: Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, With surging

greenish hue, My gazing wonder chiefly drew; Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw A lustre grand; And seem'd to my astonish'd view, A

seen: And such a leg! my bonnie Jean Could only peer it; Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, Nane else came near it. Her mantle large, of

Shone full upon her: Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, Beam'd keen with honour. Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 'Till half a leg was scrimply

stop those reckless vows, Wou'd soon be broken. A "hair-brain'd, sentimental trace" Was strongly marked in her face; A wildly-witty, rustic grace

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows, I took her for some Scottish Muse, By that same token; An' come to

aith, half-form'd, was crusht; I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht In some wild glen; When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, And stepped ben.

An' by my ingle-lowe I saw, Now bleezin' bright, A tight outlandish hizzie, braw Come full in sight. Ye need na doubt, I held my wisht; The infant

aith, That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof Till my last breath-- When, click! the string the snick did draw: And, jee! the door gaed to the wa';

half-sarkit, Is a' th' amount. I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof! And heav'd on high my waukit loof, To swear by a' yon starry roof, Or some rash