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Another gentleman who is not one of our Sancti, but who is nonetheless worthy to be commemorated in late January, is Robert Burns, the “Caledonian Bard,” whose birthday is today. He born on January 25, 1759, and died on July 21, 1796.

If you say you’ve never heard a word he wrote, try this one on for size–one of his most famous, sung here by Andy M. Stewart (whose album of Burns songs is the best I’ve yet heard):

And, of course, there’s “Auld Lang Syne”–yes, he did write that! (Hogmanay has always been the biggest Scottish holiday of the year!)

A song that Burns wrote about himself and his birth is “Rantin’ Rovin’ Robin,” and unfortunately I can’t find a version of it that I’m totally taken with…so, in absence of that, here’s one that is totally cheezy, but you can hear all the words of it. (Ignore the weird hand gestures…!?!)

Rantin’, Rovin’ Robin

There was a lad was born in Kyle,
But whatna day o’whatna style,
I doubt it’s hardly worth the while
To be sae nice wi’ Robin.

Chorus
Robin was a rovin’ Boy,
Rantin’, rovin’, rantin’, rovin’;
Robin was a rovin’ Boy,
Rantin’, rovin’, Robin!

2. Our monarch’s hindmost year but ane
Was five-and-twenty days begun,
‘Twas then a blast o’Janwar’Win’
Blew hansel in on Robin.
Chorus

3. The Gossip keekit in his loof,
Quo’scho wha lives will see the proof,
This waly boy will be nae coof,
I think we’ll ca’him Robin.
Chorus

4. He’ll hae misfortunes great and sma’,
But ay a heart aboon them a’;
He’ll be a credit till us a’,
We’ll a’be proud o’Robin.
Chorus

5. But sure as three times three mak nine,
I see by ilka score and line,
This chap will dearly like our kin’,
So leeze me on thee, Robin.
Chorus

6. “Guid faith,” quo’scho, “I doubt you Stir,
Ye gar the lasses lie aspar;
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur-
So blessins on thee, Robin.”
Chorus

One of the great Burns Day traditions, however, is to process in the haggis to the tune of “A Man’s A Man for A’ That,” one of the great ballads of social equality ever to be written. Here’s Paolo Nutini’s version of it.

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 hodding grey, an a’ that?
Gie fools their skills, and knaves their wine -
A man’s a man for a’ that.
For a’ that, an 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 cuif 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 coming yet for a’ that,
That man to man, the world, o’er
Shall brithers be for a’ that.

Once it is brought in, Burns’ poem “To a Haggis” is then recited.

Address To A Haggis

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of 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 ye up wi’ ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they strech 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 mak 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 a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bluidy 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 make 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!

Some people I know say that Burns is a boring and twee writer. Well, to that I respond with the following poem by Burns:

Nine Inch will Please a Lady

Come rede me dame, come tell me dame,
My dame come tell me truly,
What length o’ graith when weel ca’d hame
Will sair a woman duly?”
The carlin clew her wanton tail,
Her wanton tail sae ready,
“l learn’d a sang in Annandale,
Nine inch will please a lady.”

“But for a koontrie cunt like mine,
In sooth we’re not sae gentle;
We’ll tak tway thumb-bread to the nine,
And that is a sonsy pintle.
Oh, Leeze me on, my Charlie lad,
I’ll ne’er forget my Charlie,
Tway roaring handfuls and a daud
He nidged it in fu’ rarely.”

But wear fa’ the laithron doup
And may it ne’er be thriving,
It’s not the length that makes me loup
But it’s the double drivin.
Come nidge me Tom, come nidge me Tom
Come nidge me, o’er the nyvel
Come lowse an lug your battering ram
And thrash him at my gyvel!

Nothing like dick jokes to establish one’s literary career, eh? (I wonder if Burns did any fart poems either?)

I’m a bit saddened this year, because I usually get to celebrate Burns Day in some capacity or other. As a person who does Celtic Reconstructionism in addition to my other polytheistic commitments, and as someone who did Scottish Country Dancing for many years (and still would if there were a group closer to me!), I enjoy this day a great deal to celebrate everything Scottish. And, considering that Hadrian and Antoninus Pius both did a great deal to “create” Scotland in terms of their establishment of their respective walls in northern Roman Britain, it is only fitting that I at least mention this in the present context!