Robert Burns

Robert Burns was born on 25 January 1759 in the village of Alloway, about two miles from Ayr.

Burns’ Birthplace The cottage at Alloway which Burns was born in survives to this day. He spent his first seven years here, before moving to nearby Mount Oliphant farm. Here Burns attended a local school set up by his father and four neighbours.

Family Background Burns’ mother, although she could not read, was a lively and intelligent woman who knew many traditional poems and tales. The old songs meant a great deal to her. She possessed a fine musical ear and loved singing. There can be little doubt that Robert got his interest in Scots folksong from her.

The Lasses O’ In 1773 aged 14 and inspired by Nelly Kirkpatrick who was his companion at harvest, Burns wrote his first song ‘Handsome Nell’. He later recalled the incident stating: ‘I never had the least thought or inclination of turning poet till I once got heartily in love, and then rhyme and song were … the spontaneous language of my heart.’

Burns: the Farmer From childhood, Burns worked on farms. This combination of very hard work in a harsh climate with a poor diet did much to contribute to the ill-health that plagued him all his life. ‘At the age of 13 Robert assisted in threshing the corn crop, and at 15 was the principal labourer for the farm … I doubt not but the hard labour of the period of his life was in great measure the cause of the depression of spirits with which Robert was so often afflicted through his whole life afterwards.’ from Gilbert Burns (younger brother of Robert)

From Ploughman to Poet Burns was having farming and personal difficulties. The farm was not profitable and Jean Armour was pregnant. Although Burns was willing to marry her, her father was opposed to this. Burns planned to sail to Jamaica, but events took an unexpected turn. He had been advised by his friend to finance his voyage by publishing some of his poems. Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, printed in Kilmarnock in July 1786, cost three shillings and sold out within a month. Needless to say his plans to emigrate were put on hold!

‘To a Mouse on Turning Her up With the Plough, November 1785’

‘ To a Mouse’ Wee, sleekit, cowrin', 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!

‘To a Mouse’ 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!

‘To a Mouse’ I doubt na, whyles, 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, And never miss't!

‘To a Mouse’ 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 wins ensuin, Baith snell an' keen!

‘To a Mouse’ 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.

‘To a Mouse’ That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld!

‘To a Mouse’ 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.

‘To a Mouse’ Still thou art blest, compared 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!

‘A Man’s a Man for a’ That’ Burns was a great believer in common humanity. He believed that honesty and dignity were priceless virtues and that a man should be judged on his character, and not by rank, wealth or birth.

‘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.

‘A Red, Red Rose’ A Poem and a Song 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 bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I, And I will luve thee still, my Dear, Till a ’ the seas gang dry.

‘A Red, Red Rose’ Till a’ the seas gang dry, my Dear, And the rocks melt wi’ the sun! O 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’ it were ten thousand mile!

Burns in Edinburgh Burns first came to Edinburgh in 1786, following the success of the ‘Kilmarnock’ edition of his poems. He stayed at Baxter’s Close in the Lawnmarket. One of the people he met in Edinburgh was Agnes McLehose, with whom he established a platonic relationship. Agnes McLehose and Burns would sign their letters to each other as Clarinda and Sylvander. After their final meeting Burns composed ‘Ae Fond Kiss’.

Burns and Song Burns' songs express every emotion and include passionate love lyrics, rousing drinking songs and songs of freedom. His sympathies and affections range from humanity and nature to his own Scotland, and he celebrated heroes like William Wallace and Robert the Bruce.

‘Scots, Wha Hae’ Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed Or to victorie! Now's the day, and now's the hour: See the front o' battle lour, See approach proud Edward's power Chains and slaverie!

‘Scots, Wha Hae’ Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn, and flee! Wha for Scotland's King and Law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand or Freeman fa', Let him follow me!

‘Scots, Wha Hae’ By Oppression's woes and pains, By your sons in servile chains, We will drain your dearest veins, But they shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow! Let us do, or die!

The Death of Caledonia’s Bard Burns spent the final years of his life in Dumfriesshire. In 1789 he began to work for the Excise as a tax-collector. His health was failing, and the years of hard labour working on a series of unproductive farms were taking their toll.

Premature Death Burns’ doctor advised him to bathe in the sea waters, believing this would help him. Instead it effectively killed him. Burns died at the age of 37, on 21 July On the day of his funeral his wife gave birth to their youngest son, Maxwell. Large crowds lined the streets of Dumfries to pay their respects.