Rabbie Burns' works

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Six-minute English - Burns Night

Here are three examples of his works:

To A Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,                  
O, what a panic's in thy breastie! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 
Wi' bickering 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, whiles, 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 mony 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! 


Image Source: Chat GPT

To a Mouse

Small, sleek, cowering, timid little creature,
Oh, what a panic is in your tiny heart!
You don’t need to dart away so hastily,
With scurrying movement.
I would hate to run after you,
With a murderous spade!

I’m truly sorry man’s dominion
Has disrupted nature’s harmonious balance,
And justifies that harsh opinion,
That makes you afraid of me—
Me, your poor, earth-born companion,
And fellow mortal!

I don’t doubt that sometimes you steal;
But what of it? Poor little creature, you must live!
A nibble now and then in a big stack of corn
Is a small thing to ask:
I’ll still get my blessing with the rest,
And never miss it!

Your tiny house is in ruins now!
Its fragile walls are scattered by the winds!
There’s nothing left to build a new one
With grass or green leaves.
And the cold winds of bleak December
Are coming, biting and sharp!

You saw the fields laid bare and wasted,
And winter fast approaching,
And here, snug under the blast,
You thought to stay warm—
Until, suddenly, the plough destroyed
Your tiny shelter.

That little pile of leaves and stubble
Has cost you many a hard nibble!
Now you’re thrown out, despite all your trouble,
Without house or home,
To endure the winter’s icy drizzle,
And the biting frost!

But little mouse, you’re not alone,
In showing that planning ahead can fail:
The best-laid plans of mice and men
Often go astray,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,
Instead of the joy we hoped for!

Still, you are blessed compared to me!
The present moment is all that affects you:
But oh! I look back on my past,
And see only bleak memories!
And though I cannot see what lies ahead,
I can only guess—and fear!

Robert Burns wrote this poem in 1785 after accidentally destroying a mouse’s nest while ploughing a field. This poem is famous for showing Burns’s deep sympathy for all living things and his reflections on life, nature, and human existence.
  • The poem explores the relationship between humans and nature. Burns feels sorry for the mouse because humans, through farming and industry, disrupt nature’s harmony.
  • It is both apologetic and reflective. Burns feels guilty for harming the mouse and realises that animals live in the moment, while humans are burdened by regrets about the past and fears of the future.
  • “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go astray.” This line means that even the most careful plans can fail, reminding us of life’s unpredictability.

Address to a Haggis 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 
Painch, tripe, or thairm : 
Weel are ye wordy o'a grace 
As lang's my arm. 

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 dight, 
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright, 
Like ony ditch; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 
Warm-reekin', rich! 

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive: 
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive, 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 
Are bent like drums; 
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 
Bethankit! hums. 

Is there that owre his French ragout 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Or fricassee wad make her spew 
Wi' perfect sconner, 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 
On sic a dinner? 

Poor devil! see him owre his trash, 
As feckless as wither'd rash, 
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash; 
His nieve a nit; 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 
O how unfit! 

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, 
The trembling earth resounds his tread. 
Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 
He'll mak 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! 

Image Source: Chat GPT

Address to a Haggis

Good luck to your honest, jolly face,
Great chieftain of the sausage clan!
Above them all, you take your place,
Stomach, tripe or intestines:
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.

You fill the groaning platter there,
Your buttocks like a distant hill,
Your skewer could fix a broken mill
If ever need be,
While through your pores the juices seep
Like amber beads.

Watch as the rustic slices with his knife,
And expertly cuts you open,
Carving your steaming insides,
Like a trench in the earth;
And then, oh what a glorious sight,
Warm, steaming, and rich!

Then, spoon for spoon, they eagerly serve:
The devil take the hindmost, they hurry on,
Until their well-filled stomachs, by and by,
Are taut like drums;
Then the old master, ready to burst,
Murmurs, “Thank goodness!”

Is there anyone who scorns this dish,
Or foreign food that would sicken a pig,
Or fricassee that would make her vomit
In complete disgust,
And looks down with a sneering, disdainful view
On such a meal?

Poor soul! See him eat his bland food,
As weak as a withered reed,
His thin leg, like a whip-lash,
His fist as small as a nut;
Through bloody flood or battlefield,
Oh, how unfit!

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his step,
Put a sturdy blade in his mighty hand,
He’ll make it whistle;
And lop off legs, arms, and heads,
Like tops of thistles.

You powers who care for mankind,
And provide them their daily food,
Old Scotland doesn’t want thin, tasteless fare
That sloshes in bowls;
But if you want her grateful prayer,
Give her a haggis!

This humorous and celebratory poem was written in 1786 as a tribute to haggis, a traditional Scottish dish made from sheep’s organs, oatmeal, and spices. Haggis was a popular food among the working class in Burns’s time, and the poem highlights the poet’s pride in Scottish traditions.
  • Burns praises the simplicity and strength of haggis as a symbol of Scotland. He contrasts it with fancy foreign dishes, saying haggis is better suited to nourishing strong and hardworking people.
  • The tone is playful and joyful. Burns uses exaggerated imagery to make the haggis seem grand, calling it the “chieftain of the pudding race.”
  • Today, this poem is famously recited at Burns Night suppers (a celebration of Robert Burns), where people gather to eat haggis, drink whisky, and celebrate Scottish culture.

My luve is like a Red, Red Rose

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 play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonie 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; 
And 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, a while! 
And I will come again, my Luve, 
Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

Source: You Tube (dayfornight) Key Words: Red Red Rose Eddi Reader

My Luve is like a Red, Red Rose

Oh, my love is like a red, red rose,
That’s newly bloomed in June;
Oh, my love is like the melody,
That’s sweetly played in tune.

You are so beautiful, my lovely girl,
And so deeply in love am I;
And I will love you still, my dear,
Till all the seas run dry.

Till all the seas run dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt with the sun:
And I will love you still, my dear,
While the sands of time shall flow.

And farewell, my only love!
And farewell for now!
And I will return to you, my love,
Even if it were ten thousand miles away.

This love poem, written in 1794, is one of Robert Burns’s most famous works. It shows his ability to express deep emotions in simple and beautiful language. The poem may have been inspired by Scottish folk songs, as Burns often collected and adapted traditional music and lyrics.

  • The poem is about enduring love. Burns compares his love to a freshly bloomed rose and a sweet melody, emphasiz¡sing its beauty and freshness.
  • The tone is romantic and passionate. Burns promises his love will last forever, using hyperbolic (exaggerated) imagery, like the seas drying up or the rocks melting in the sun.
  • The poet expresses the depth of his love and his longing to be reunited with his beloved, even if separated by great distances.

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