Dakota Beacon

Tomorrow will be the 262nd birthday of the Bard of Scotland, Robert Burns.  I know we’ve talked about Burns here before and this year it might be more important than ever.  Those of us who celebrate Burns usually do so with other Burns aficionados and it turns into quite the party - a typical Burns Night supper generally involves a certain formula - here is a summary:

• Guests arrive and are piped in by a bagpiper (or, for most of us, a recording of a bagpiper).  Everyone is wearing something Scottish - a tartan tie, scarf or sash, or a Scottish Lion or thistle pin or pendant, or perhaps a crest badge.

• When everyone has arrived and is warmed up they assemble in the dining room and there are some toasts, probably to the host, usually with Scotch whisky.

• Someone recites the “Selkirk Grace”.

• The Haggis is piped in from the kitchen - properly done, there are two assistants, one in front of the person bearing the haggis on a silver platter and one behind . . . and the piper (if you have one).

• At this point one of the company is asked to give the toast to the haggis, one of Burns’ famous poems.  He must be very animated as he cuts open the haggis

(Maybe this is a good time to talk about “haggis”.  Haggis is a lot of various organ meats, spices and toasted oatmeal mixed and boiled inside a sheep’s stomach.  Sometimes it is necessary to substitute another casing but it is a big roundish mound of a thing.  When you cut it open what is inside looks a lot like roast beef hash.  It tastes a bit like braunschweiger.  You might pour a dram of Scotch over it.)

• There is a dinner besides the haggis, of course.  Roast beef and “tatties” (roasted potatoes), neeps (root vegetable, usually rutabaga), some kind of Scottish dessert or “dainties” (cookies, etc.).

• There are a series of short speeches, the main one being the “Toast to the Immortal Memory” - a discourse on some aspect of the life of Robert Burns.  There is more variety here than would seem likely, given that Burns was only 37 when he died, but he lived a very active and productive life, characterized by an amazing output of work.  

• Next comes the “Toast tae the Lassies”, wherein a gallant member of the assembly says a few - hopefully kind - words about the ladies.  Usually this is followed by a “Toast tae the Laddies”, given by one of the ladies present.  Sometimes these are a bit sassy.  Or not, depending on the speaker.

• There is always music, sometimes dancing, usually singing and poetry reading after dinner.  Depending on the makeup of the crowd there will be either some pretty energetic reels and country dances or some fireside poetry reading and a song or two.

• The evening ends with “Auld Lang Syne”, where all the guests stand in a circle holding hands across each other.  It is always poignant.  

There it is . . . now a memory as people no longer hold hands or sing or have dinner together or, God help us - dance!  But it is something to remember on a cold, quiet, lonely January night.  Maybe next year?  Maybe the year after that?  

Burns is well worth celebrating.  HIs poetry cuts right through the fog, through the pomp and pretense.  He gets the point and he gets right to the point.  His philosophy was that of that rarest of beings - an Honest Man.  He saw a lot of phoniness in his era, just as we do in our own.  It is a timeless message.  This is why Buns lives on - two and a quarter centuries after his untimely death in 1796.  Although often we dwell on the sentimental and romantic Burns or perhaps the storyteller (Tam O’Shanter), it seems fitting this year to focus more on Burns’ observations of his fellow men and his Scottish patriotism.  I think the echoes of his thoughts on these topics ring very true with most of us today.

His sarcasm was biting in “Holy Willie’s Prayer”, wherein he took some sharp jabs at hypocrisy and self-righteousness.  Very timely today, as we look at our leading “authorities” and our politicians posturing.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JjwgKTjH8cQ  (See footnotes for text.)

And if we are to pursue the theme of the contrasts we see in mankind, let’s listen to “A Man’s a Man for a’ That”, where he draws the distinction between the strutting peacock (“wi’ his riband, star an’ a’ that”) and the honest man:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPeAjhXWJvI

This is Burns’ homage to his Scottish nation, the home of valiant heroes and fierce battles, Braveheart and Bruce:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qx8hEoJNVdM

Here is one which is as appropriate in the United States of America in 2021 as it was when Burns penned it - “Such a Parcel o’ Rogues in a Nation”.  Here he condemns those of his countrymen who sold Scotland out for personal gain.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7ncizeO2jk

So we see that once we get past the Doric Scots dialect in which Burns generally wrote, his message is as new and bright as ever and for all people everywhere.  And we see that our griefs today are not so new - there have always been sanctimonious jerks, heroes, honest men (however rare) and, of course, traitors.  Burns lives.

But I did promise a party, right?  One thing we need to learn is to take what joy we can from life wherever we can find it, and in the company of others who love Burns, we can surely enjoy his lighter moments of love and laughter as well as his deep and serious view of life.

Here is an assortment of Scottish music, song, some dancing and a cute little kid who might just become one heck of a drummer.

The Eightsome Reel:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvHeTArCnYQ

Banks and Braes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OXwUqiP52Ys

A bit o’ Highland Dancing (and by the way, this take an enormous amount of strength and stamina and the kilts are actually very heavy):  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LmjmEdiEX_4

A bit more!  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z4BqxBzPqRk

This little boy has a future in a pipe band:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzQenE2FhkQ

Were My Love Yon Lilac Fair

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6R4mpm1YDbI

My Love Is Like a Red, Red Rose

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJGaRb3WCT4

Another dance:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v_PYetBUcsE

And finally, a fond fareweel until next we meet:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xX47kd9L6oc

And so ends our special night of celebration.  It’s not quite the same as when we can do it in person, but we can look forward to that happy time . . . maybe soon.  In the meantime, if you’d like to hear more about the life and times of Burns, the National Poet of Scotland (and the world), here is a brief biographical documentary - something to do on a cold winter’s night.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6yGVYhVM1g

Notes:  Text for Burns poems 

Holy Willie's Prayer

O Thou, who in the heavens does dwell,
Who, as it pleases best Thysel’,
Sends ane to heaven an’ ten to hell,
A’ for Thy glory,
And no for ony gude or ill
They’ve done afore Thee!

I bless and praise Thy matchless might,
When thousands Thou hast left in night,
That I am here afore Thy sight,
For gifts an’ grace
A burning and a shining light
To a’ this place.

That I should get sic exaltation,
I wha deserve most just damnation
For broken laws,
Five thousand years ere my creation,
Thro’ Adam’s cause?

When frae my mither’s womb I fell,
Thou might hae plunged me in hell,
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail,
In burnin lakes,
Where damned devils roar and yell,
Chain’d to their stakes.

Yet I am here a chosen sample,

To show thy grace is great and ample;
I’m here a pillar o’ Thy temple,
Strong as a rock,
A guide, a buckler, and example,
To a’ Thy flock.

O Lord, Thou kens what zeal I bear,
When drinkers drink, an’ swearers swear,
An’ singin there, an’ dancin here,
Wi’ great and sma’;
For I am keepit by Thy fear
Free frae them a’.

But yet, O Lord! confess I must,
At times I’m fash’d wi’ fleshly lust:
An’ sometimes, too, in wardly trust,
Vile self gets in:
But Thou remembers we are dust,
Defil’d wi’ sin.

O Lord! yestreen, Thou kens, wi’ Meg-
Thy pardon I sincerely beg,
O! may’t ne’er be a livin plague
To my dishonour,
An’ I’ll ne’er lift a lawless leg
Again upon her.

Besides, I farther maun allow,
Wi’ Leezie’s lass, three times I trow-
But Lord, that Friday I was fou,
When I cam near her;
Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true
Wad never steer her.

Maybe Thou lets this fleshly thorn
Buffet Thy servant e’en and morn,
Lest he owre proud and high shou’d turn,
That he’s sae gifted:
If sae, Thy han’ maun e’en be borne,
Until Thou lift it.

Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,
For here Thou hast a chosen race:
But God confound their stubborn face,
An’ blast their name,
Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace
An’ public shame.

Lord, mind Gaw’n Hamilton’s deserts;
He drinks, an’ swears, an’ plays at cartes,
Yet has sae mony takin arts,
Wi’ great and sma’,
Frae God’s ain priest the people’s hearts
He steals awa.

An’ when we chasten’d him therefor,
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,
An’ set the warld in a roar
O’ laughing at us;-
Curse Thou his basket and his store,
Kail an’ potatoes.

Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray’r,
Against that Presbyt’ry o’ Ayr;
Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare
Upo’ their heads;
Lord visit them, an’ dinna spare,
For their misdeeds.

O Lord, my God! that glib-tongu’d Aiken,
My vera heart and flesh are quakin,
To think how we stood sweatin’, shakin,
An’ p-‘d wi’ dread,
While he, wi’ hingin lip an’ snakin,
Held up his head.

Lord, in Thy day o’ vengeance try him,
Lord, visit them wha did employ him,
And pass not in Thy mercy by ’em,
Nor hear their pray’r,
But for Thy people’s sake, destroy ’em,
An’ dinna spare.

But, Lord, remember me an’ mine
Wi’ mercies temp’ral an’ divine,
That I for grace an’ gear may shine,
Excell’d by nane,
And a’ the glory shall be thine,
Amen, Amen!

A Man's a Man for a' That

Is there for honest Poverty
That hings his head, an’ a’ that;
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that.
Our toils obscure an’ a’ that,
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
The Man’s the gowd for a’ that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an’ a that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man’s a Man for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that;
The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.

Ye see yon birkie ca’d a lord,
Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that,
Tho’ hundreds worship at his word,
He’s but a coof for a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
His ribband, star, an’ a’ that,
The man o’ independent mind,
He looks an’ laughs at a’ that.

A Prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that!
But an honest man’s aboon his might –
Guid faith, he mauna fa’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their dignities, an’ a’ that,
The pith o’ Sense an’ pride o’ Worth
Are higher rank than a’ that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a’ that,
That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth
Shall bear the gree an’ a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
It’s comin yet for a’ that,
That Man to Man the warld o’er
Shall brithers be for a’ that.

Scots, Wha Hae

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed
Or to victorie!

Now's the day, and now's the hour:
See the front o' battle lour,
See approach proud Edward's power -
Chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha will fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave? -
Let him turn, and flee!

Wha for Scotland's King and Law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand or freeman fa',
Let him follow me!

By oppression's woes and pains,
By your sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veins
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do or dee!

Such a Parcel o' Rogues in a Nation

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory,
Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name,
Sae fam'd in martial story.
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands,
And Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark where England's province stands -
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

What force or guile could not subdue,
Thro' many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor's wages.
The English steel we could disdain;
Secure in valour's station;
But English gold has been our bane -
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

O would, or I had seen the day
That treason thus could sell us,
My auld gray head had lien in clay,
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour,
I'll mak' this declaration;
We're bought and sold for English gold -
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

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