Tonight we're going to a Robert Burns dinner, and the hosts provide the food and the guests the entertainment. I will be reading this poem/song. He wrote it during his final illness for Jessy Lewars who helped the Burns family during his illness and his wife's confinement. The melody most commonly used for this song is by Mendelssohn, but I won't sing it, for which everyone will be grateful. I used to be a soprano. Now I have 4 notes--but they aren't all in a row.O wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee;
Or did Misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'.
Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
The desert were a Paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there;
Or were I Monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my Crown
Wad be my Queen, wad be my Queen.
cauld = cold
lea = grassland
plaide = length of tartan cloth
airt = direction
aroond = around
blaw = blow
bield = shelter
In writing about Bobby Burns, Elbert Hubbard says (1916), "Poetry and love-making should be carried on with caution: they form a terrific tax on life's forces. Most poets die young, not because the gods especially love them, but because life is a bank-account, and to wipe out your balance is to have your checks protested. The excesses of youth are drafts payable at maturity. Chatterton dead at eighteen, Keats at twenty-six, Shelley at thirty-three, Byron at thirty-six, Poe at forty, and Burns at thirty-seven, are the rule. When drafts made by the men mentioned became due, there was no balance to their credit and Charon beckoned. Most life-insurance companies now ask the applicant this question, "Do you write poetry to excess?" " Link.
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