Burns Nicht (Burns Night)

It’s Burns Nicht here in Edinburgh. It’s a celebration for the poet Robert Burns. There are held Burns suppers all around Scotland today. And they will eat good food and have an amazing time. I have learnt about this in one of my classes. It is celebrated on 25th January because its Robert Burns birthday and it’s been celebrated for over 200 years if I have understood correctly.

I had the chance to go to a Burns Supper Ball this week, but because I was not feeling good, I decided to stay home instead. I know that their are video clips on how a Burns supper is celebrated on youtube if you are interested to know more.

I know that Burns poem “Adress to a Haggis” is read at these gatherings. You can read it down below.

Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns

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 worthy 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 slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie 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;
The 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 scunner,
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 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 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

Source: http://www.robertburns.org.uk/Assets/Poems_Songs/toahaggis.htm

In the source, you can even read the English translation.

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