Robert Burns

The Greatest Poet of Scotland Robert Burns 1759-1796

The House Where R. Burns was Born
Robert Burns was born on 25 January 1759, the first of William and Agnes Burns' seven children. From an early age Robert had to help his father on their small, impoverished farm in Ayrshire, in south-west Scotland .

Although he received little formal education, Burns was fluent in French and had a working knowledge of Latin and mathematics. He was a voracious reader across a range of literature, though he often liked to present himself as nothing more than a simple country poet.

When he was 15 he fell in love for the first time, supposedly with a girl with whom he was harvesting wheat. He promptly immortalized her - Helen was her name - in his maiden poem, "Handsome Nell".

In 1785 Burns met Jean Armour at a dance in Mauchline. She became his wife and eventually bore him nine children. Burns also fathered at least four more offspring with other women, and had other romantic entanglements along the way.

He wrote his first collection of poetry - Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect - in order to raise money for a sea passage to Jamaica, Jean Armour's parents having initially opposed his prospective marriage to their daughter. The poems were an instant success, however, so Burns abandoned all thoughts of emigrating and moved to Edinburgh to pursue his literary career.

Burns signed up as an Excise officer in 1789, with a starting salary of £50 p.a. On one occasion he and his men captured a smuggler's vessel, the Rosamund, in the Solway Firth. Burns later purchased four of the ship's guns to donate to the French revolutionary cause.

Robert Burns wrote over 600 poems and songs in his relatively short life, though one of the most famous, "Auld Lang Syne", was not all his own work. A traditional ballad, Burns "took it down from an old man's singing" and reworked it. The tune itself dates back to the 17th century.

The poet died on 21 July 1796 in Dumfries, at the age of 37. The cause of death is thought to be the result of a streptococcal infection entering the bloodstream following the extraction of a tooth, though it has also been attributed to a freezing swim in the Solway Firth in a vain attempt to restore his failing health.

Robert Burn’s Mausoleum

Monuments to Robert Burns

R. Burns Statute in Washington Park, Albany N.Y.

Robert Burn’s House

CD-ROM’s Covers with The Songs of Robert Burns.

According to the Burns Society, the bicentenary of the poet's birth in 1996 was officially celebrated by more than a million people worldwide. A remarkable and enduring tribute to one of the world's greatest poets, whose passion, humour and love of the common man lives on in his work.
Robert Burns' postage stamps on a "First Day Cover" on 25 January, 1996, the 200th anniversary of his birth.

387. Robert Burns Box, c.1890 Bust of Robert Burns, three-quarters left, his bust lightly draped; to the left is a flower. This impression forms the lid of a circular metallic box, 75 mm. (3 inches) in diameter and 25 mm. (1 inch) in height. Very fine Notes: Robert Burns (1759-1796), Scottish national poet . The impression of Burns and the accompanying decoration have been softly and sensitively modeled. The box may have been produced to mark the centenary of his death, as indeed were medals and other items, and it probably was intended as a receptacle for snuff or tobacco.

Statues of Robert Burns

His Works are Still Very Popular.
Collection of Robert Burns Poems and Ballads in Punjab Language.

A Red Rose. A poem by Robert Burns
O my Luve's like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June; O my Luve's like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry:
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only Luve, And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.

Auld Lang Syne
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, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, And surely I'll be mine! And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne
For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. And there's a hand, my trusty fiere, And gie's a hand o' thine! And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught For auld lang syne. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne.

Coming Thro' the Rye
Coming thro' the rye, poor body, Coming thro' the rye, She draiglet a' her petticoatie Coming thro' the rye. O, Jenny's a' wat, poor body; Jenny's seldom dry; She draiglet a' her petticoatie Coming thro' the rye.
Gin a body meet a body Coming thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body— Need a body cry? Gin a body meet a body Coming thro' the glen, Gin a body kiss a body— Need the warld ken?

My Heart’s in the highlands.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer -A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe; My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North The birth place of Valour, the country of Worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; Farewell to the forrests and wild-hanging woods; Farwell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe; My heart's in the Highlands, where ever I go.
В горах мое сердце... Доныне я там.
По следу оленя лечу по скалам. Гоню я оленя, пугаю козу.
В горах мое сердце, а сам я внизу. Прощай, моя родина! Север, прощай, -Отечество славы и доблести край.
По белому свету судьбою гоним, Навеки останусь я сыном твоим!
Прощайте, вершины под кровом снегов, Прощайте, долины и скаты лугов,
Прощайте, поникшие в бездну леса,
Прощайте, потоков лесных голоса. В горах мое сердце... Доныне я там. По следу оленя лечу по скалам.
Гоню я оленя, пугаю козу. В горах мое сердце, а сам я внизу.

There were three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surpris'd them all. The sultry suns of Summer came, And he grew thick and strong; His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, That no one should him wrong. The sober Autumn enter'd mild, When he grew wan and pale; His bending joints and drooping head Show'd he began to fail. His colour sicken'd more and more, He faded into age; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage. They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back, And cudgell'd him full sore; They hung him up before the storm, And turned him o'er and o'er. They filled up a darksome pit With water to the brim; They heaved in John Barleycorn, There let him sink or swim. They laid him out upon the floor, To work him farther woe; And still, as signs of life appear'd, They toss'd him to and fro. They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, The marrow of his bones; But a miller us'd him worst of all, For he crush'd him between two stones. And they hae taen his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise; For if you do but taste his blood, 'Twill make your courage rise. 'Twill make a man forget his woe; 'Twill heighten all his joy; 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho' the tear were in her eye. Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
John Barleycorn

Трех королей разгневал он и было решено,
Что навсегда погибнет Джон Ячменное Зерно. Велели выкопать сохой могилу короли, чтоб славный Джон, боец лихой, не вышел из земли. Травой покрылся горный склон, в ручьях воды полно...
А из земли выходит Джон Ячменное Зерно. Все так же буен и упрям, с пригорка в летний зной грозит он копьями врагам, качая головой. Но осень трезвая идет. И, тяжко нагружен, поник под бременем забот, согнулся старый Джон. Настало время помирать -зима недалека. И тут-то недруги опять взялись за старика. Его свалил горбатый нож одним ударом с ног, и как бродягу на правеж, везут его на ток.
Дубасить Джона принялись Злодеи поутру. Потом, подбрасывая ввысь, кружили на ветру.
Он был в колодец погружен, на сумрачное дно. Но и в воде не тонет Джон Ячменное Зерно! Не пощадив его костей, швырнули их в костер.
А сердце мельник меж камней безжалостно растер. Бушует кровь в его котле, под обручем бурлит, вскипает в кружках на столе и души веселит. Недаром был покойный Джон при жизни молодец, - Отвагу подымает он со дна людских сердец. Он гонит вон из головы докучный рой забот. За кружкой сердце у вдовы от радости поет... Так пусть же до конца времен не высыхает дно в бочонке, где клокочет Джон Ячменное Зерно!

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Robert Burns

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