Posted on 12/21/2004 12:25:42 PM PST by hk409
Edited on 12/21/2004 12:54:14 PM PST by Admin Moderator. [history]
Ben Lomond, the name of the town I lived in when I started learning pipes!
And yet, and yet, of the Celtic races, the Scots and the Irish have managed to spread their seed far and wide around the world...
You can thank the English for some of that. But what's impressive is not so much the spread but the success. I don't know what the cultural element was, but they seem to have been successful wherever they landed. (There are others who seem to do the same -- the Jews and the Iranians, for example.)
I remember our Gaelic teacher showing us a video, "The Blood is Strong", about the Gaels abroad, and the struggle to preserve their culture. Their success elsewhere, and how their "origins" are not forgotten, is part of it.
(We have a story passed down in my family about where in Scotland our surname comes from, confirmed by someone else with the same surname but not related to us in North America, but for both the exact place itself is forgotten. There are hints it was in the Highlands, and emptied in the Clearances.)
Okay.
For that one I will refer you to "Wir Ain Leid: Greetings" and let you figure out the REAL meaning of the Scots greeting to a newly married couple: "Happy fit."
And... *\;-)
That is SO sad...
And one other....
Fareweel, fareweel my native hame,
Thy lonely glens an' heath-clad mountains,
Fareweel thy fields o' storied fame,
Thy leafy shaws an' sparkling fountains,
Nae mair I'll climb the Pentland's steep,
Nor wander by the Esk's clear river,
I seek a hame far o'er the deep,
My native land, fareweel forever.
Thou land wi' love and freedom crown'd,
In ilk wee cot an' lordly dwellin',
May manly hearted youths be found,
And maids in ev'ry grace excellin'.
The land where Bruce and Wallace wight,
For freedom fought in days o' danger,
Never crouch'd to proud usurpin' right.
But foremost stood, wrongs stern avenger.
Tho' far frae thee, my native shore,
An' toss'd on life's tempestuous ocean;
My heart, aye Scottish to the core,
Shall cling to thee wi' warm devotion,
An' while the wavin' heather grows,
An' onward rows the windin' river,
The toast be Scotland's broomy knowes,
Her mountains, rocks, an' glens forever.
And afore we return to yon luverly thread that is our hame, we must, must, must, raise a glass of fine single malt in toast to the haggis:
Address to a Haggis
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 wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.
2. 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.
3. 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!
4. 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;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit hums.
5. Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad stow a sow,
Or fricasee was mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?
6. 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!
7. But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.
8. 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!
Without you, our life has no meaning!
What you said!
I see you're trying to get on my good side. ;-)
(You were already there.)
It's not my "native shore," but I loved Scotland.
The toast be Scotland's broomy knowes,
Her mountains, rocks, an' glens forever
Alba gu brath!! (Scotland forever!)
*blushes*
Where were you, Miss Tulip?
Recited around the world January 25th (Scotland's poet laureate's birthday), in Burns' Night celebrations!
Out with my best friend and her 3 year old daughter. I won't see them for about a month or so now.
I jezz wanna stay there.
:)
I know which side that is ... the nearside.
LOL! Yep. ;-)
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.