Autour de Robert Burns

Robert Burns (également appelé Rabbie Burns, Scotland's favourite son (fils préféré de l'Écosse), the Bard of Ayrshire (le barde de l'Ayrshire) ou, tout simplement, the Bard) est un poète écossais. Poète symbole de l'Écosse, il est né le 25 janvier 1759 à Alloway (South Ayrshire) et mort le 21 juillet 1796 à Dumfries (Dumfries and Galloway). Auteur passionné et romantique de nombreux poèmes et chansons d'inspiration folklorique écossaise, dont Auld Lang Syne, il s'agit du plus grand auteur en scots.Fils de William Burns, jardinier et paysan, Robert ne reçut qu'une instruction élémentaire et travailla la terre une grande partie de sa vie ; sans grand succès. À Édimbourg, où il s'installa en 1786, il fut considéré par les milieux intellectuels et bourgeois comme poète-paysan. Grâce à l'éditeur James Johnson furent publiés entre 1787 et 1803 The Scots Musical Museum, plus de 150 chansons populaires écossaises d'origines diverses qu'il avait retravaillées. Entre 1793 et 1818 furent édités dans la Thomson's Collection les 6 volumes de A Select Collection Of Scottish Airs for the Voice, 114 autres chansons populaires.

Son œuvre, inspirée de la vie à la campagne, de la nature et de culture populaire et sa poésie d'une grande sensibilité a contribué à l'éclosion du romantisme. Il inspira la production de littérature dialectale dans d'autres pays de l'Europe.

Il a été un critique acide de l'Église calviniste et de l'aristocratie, ce qui lui valut de grandes inimitiés.

Robert Burns "To a Mouse" Poem Animation Movie

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! 

Robert Burns (1785)

Eddie Reader My Love is Like a Red Red Rose

Eva Cassidy My Love is Like a red Red Rose

My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose

Oh, my love is like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June
Oh, my love is like a melody
That's sweetly played in tune
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till all the seas gang dry.
Till all the seas gang dry, my dear,
Till all the seas gang dry
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till all the seas gang dry.

'Til all the seas gang dry my, my dear
And the rocks melt with the sun
And I will love thee still, my dear
While the sands of life shall run
But faretheewell, my only love
Oh, faretheewell a while
And I will come again, my love
Tho' 't were ten thousand mile
Tho' 't were ten thousand mile, my love
Tho' 't were ten thousand mile
And I will come again, my love
Tho' 't were ten thousand mile.

Eddi Reader - Willie Stewart

Chorus -
You're welcome, Willie Stewart,
You're welcome, Willie Stewart,
There's never a flower that blooms in May,
That's half so welcome as thou art!

Come, bumpers high, express your joy,
The bowl we must renew it,
The tappit-hen, go bring her ben, [tappit-hen = a quart measure of whiskey usually served in a ben = bowl with a lid]
To welcome Willie Stewart
You're welcome, Willie Stewart...

Though foes be strong, and friends be slack
Their action, must they rue it,
May woman on him turn her back
That wrongs thee, Willie Stewart,
You're welcome, Willie Stewart...

A flower, it grows, it fades, it falls
And nature cannot renew it,
But worth and truth, eternal youth,
We'll give to Willie Stewart

May she whose arms shall enfold thy charms
Possess a loyal and true heart
To her be given, to ken the heaven [ken = know]
She holds in Willie Stewart.

Eddi Reader - Charlie is my darling - Live At The Basement

Paroles de Lady Nairne

Charlie is my darlin,
my darlin, my darlin,
Charlie is my darlin,
the young Chevalier.

1. Twas on a Monday mornin
Right early in the year
When Charlie came to our town
The Young Chevalier.

2. As he cam' marchin' up the street
The pipes played loud and clear
And a' the folk cam' rinnin' out
To meet the Chevalier.

3. Wi' highland bonnets on their heads
And claymores bright and clear
They cam' to fight for Scotland's right
And for the Chevalier.

4. They've left their bonnie highland hills
Their wives and bairnies dear
To draw the sword for Scotland's lord
The young Chevalier.

5. Oh, there were mony beating hearts
And mony a hope and fear
And mony were the pray'rs put up
For the young Chevalier

An' Charlie he's my darling,
my darling, my darling,
Charlie he's my darling,
the young Chevalier.

1. Twas on a monday morning,
Right early in the year,
That Charlie came to our town,
The young Chevalier.

2. As he was walking up the street,
The city for to view,
O there he spied a bonnie lass
The window looking thro'.

3. Sae light's he jimped up the stair,
And tirled at the pin;
And wha sae ready as hersel,
To let the laddie in.

4. He set his Jenny on his knee,
All in his Highland dress;
For brawlie weel he ken'd the way
To please a bonny lass.

5. It's up on yon heathery mountain,
And down yon scroggy glen,
We daur na gang a milking,
For Charlie and his men

Paroles de Robert Burns