Robbie Burns day.

[Lean'n'mean]

Yes folks, it comes but once a year & well worth celebratin'
Today's poem is a little ditty titled; To a Mouse........a few wee drams of single malt will help with the translation.
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Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickerin brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
’S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss ’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
On prospects drear!
An’ forward tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!

 

[Tiki Tom]

The only bit I know by heart:

An’ now, Auld Cloots, I ken ye’re thinking,
A certain bardie’s rantin, drinking,
Some luckless hour will send him linkin
To your black pit:
But faith! He’ll turn a corner jinkin,
An’ cheat you yet!

 

[Tiki Tom]

Thank you for this thread, Lean'n'Mean.

Your thread made me curious. Lifted from the internet:

"A Burns supper is a celebration of the life and poetry of the poet Robert Burns, the author of many Scots poems. The suppers are normally held on or near the poet's birthday, 25 January, known as Burns Night."​

What better excuse to drink whisky on a Monday night?

 

[LizzieMaine]

"Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race!"

 

[Harp]

Thank you for this thread, Lean'n'Mean.

Your thread made me curious. Lifted from the internet:

"A Burns supper is a celebration of the life and poetry of the poet Robert Burns, the author of many Scots poems. The suppers are normally held on or near the poet's birthday, 25 January, known as Burns Night."​

What better excuse to drink whisky on a Monday night?

The actor in the video, Gareth Morrison bears resemblance to meself; also of the clan Morrison.
A bit errie this early in the morn on my first cup of joe. My grandmother's brief description
of the Morrison kilt, "like the Black Watch but not."

After my grandmother's haggis, whiskey would prove a disruption of the innards.

 

[Hurricane Jack]

A few yrs ago with the reopening of the Isle of Arran distillery after it being closed for some time I picked up a bottle of Robert Burns Single Malt in a gift set with a glass.

 

[galopede]

Had my haggis wi'neeps and tatties and a nip of the golden stuff earlier!

Gareth