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Robert Burns ROBERT BURNS Holy Willie's Prayer Holy Willie's prayer is a poem that was written about a certain Willie Fisher who was an elder in the Parish church of Mauchline, in Ayrshire. Fisher was a hypocrite and himself a sinner who spied on people and reported them to the minister if he thought they were doing wrong. The poem is a satire based on Fisher's sickly self-righteousness. The phrase "Holy Willie" have become part of the Scots language for describing someone that is humourless and ultra religious. Note: Burns was a God fearing man. This poem is not anti religion. It is stricly a condemnation of religious hypocrisy and self righteousness. O Thou, that in the heavens does dwell, As it pleases best Thysel', Sends aen to Heaven an' ten to Hell, For Thy glory, And no for onie or ill They've done afore Thee! I bless and praise Thy matchless might, When thousands Thou hast left in night, That I am here afore Thy sight, For gifts an' grace A burning and a shining light To a' this place. What was I, or my generation, That I should get sic exaltation? I wha deserv'd most just damnation For broken laws, Six thousand years 'ere my creation, Thro' Adam's cause. When from my mither's womb I fell, Thou might hae plung'd me deep in hell, To gnash my gums, and weep and wail, In burnin lakes, Where damned devils roar and yell, Chain'd to their stakes. Yet I am here a chosen sample, To show thy grace is great and ample; I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple, Strong as a rock, A guide, a buckler, and example, To a' Thy flock. O Lord, Thou kens what zeal I bear, When drinkers drink, an' swearers swear, An' singing here, an' dancin there, Wi' great and sma'; For I am keepit by Thy fear Free frae them a'. But yet, O Lord! confess I must, At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust: An' sometimes, too, in worldly trust, Vile self gets in; But Thou remembers we are dust, Defil'd wi' sin. O Lord! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg Thy pardon I sincerely beg; O may't ne'er be a livin' plague To my dishonour, An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg Again upon her. Besides, I farther maun avow, Wi' Leezie's lass, three times I trow - But Lord, that Friday I was fou, When I cam near her; Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true Wad never steer her. Maybe Thou lets this fleshly thorn Buffet Thy servant e'en and morn, Lest he owre proud and high shou'd turn, That he's sae gifted: If sae, Thy han' maun e'en be borne, Until Thou lift it. Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place, For here Thou has a chosen race! But God confound there stuborn face, An' blast their name, Wha brings Thy elders to disgrace An' open shame. Lord, mind Gaw'n Hamilton's deserts; He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes, Yet has sae mony takin arts, Wi' great an' sma', Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts He steals awa'. And when we chasten'd him therefore, Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, And set the world in a roar O' laughing at us; Curse Thou his basket and his store, Kail an' potatoes. Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r, Against that Presbyt'ry o' Ayr; Thy strong right hand, Lord mak it bare Upo' their heads; Lord visit them, an' dinna spare, For their misdeeds. O Lord my God! that glib-tongu'd Aitken, My vera heart an' flesh are quakin, To think how we stood sweatin, shakin, An' pish'd wi' dread, While he, wi' hingin lip an' snakin, Held up his head. Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try him, Lord, visit them wha did employ him, And pass not in Thy mercy by them, Nor hear their pray'r, But for Thy people's sake destroy them, An' dinna spare. But, Lord, remember me an' mine Wi' mercies temporal and divine, That I for grace an' gear may shine, Excell'd by nane, And a' the glory shall be Thine, Amen, Amen! To A Mouse On turning her up in her nest, with the plough, November, 1785 We again see how, in the words of Thomas Carlyl, the poet "rises to the high, stoops to the low, and is brother and playmate to all nature." This is, by readers gentle and readers simple, acknowledged to be one of the most perfect little gems that ever human genius produced. One of its couplets has passed into a proverb:- "The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, gang aft agley." Surely one of the finest poems written by Burns, containing some of the most famous and memorable lines ever written by a poet, yet, to this day not really understood by the mass of English-speaking poetry lovers, for no other reason than that the dialect causes it to be read as though in a foreign language. All readers of Burns know of the "Wee sleekit Thanks to George Wilkie cow'rin tim'rous beastie" but not many understand the for letting us have this sadness and despair contained within the lines of this explanation of this poem poem. What was the Bard saying when he was inspired by from his book, turning up a fieldmouse in her nest one day while out "Understanding Robert ploughing? - George Wilkie Burns". Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie, O, what panic's in thy breastie! The poet is doing his utmost Thou need na start awa sae hasty, to assure this terrified little Wi' bickering brattle! creature that he has no I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, intention of causing it any Wi' murd'ring pattle! harm. bickerin‘ brattle =scurry, run; laith = loath; pattle = a small spade for I'm truly sorry Man's dominion cleaning a plough Has broken Nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, He then goes on to Which makes thee startle, apologise to the mouse for At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, the behaviour of mankind using beautiful prose which An' fellow-mortal! requires neither translation nor interpretation. Listen to what he is saying, and you will be well on your way to understand what made Burns such a greatly loved man. Note how he equates himself with the mouse in I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; life‘s great plan. What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen-icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request: Here he tells the mouse that I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, he realizes its need to steal An' never miss't! the odd ear of corn, and he does not really mind. He‘ll get by with remainder and never miss it. daimen = occasional; icker = an ear of corn; thrave = twenty four Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin! sheaves; lave = remainder It's silly wa's the win's are strewin! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, Dismay at the enormity of O' foggage green! the problems he has brought An' bleak December's winds ensuin, on the mouse causes him to Baith snell an' keen! reflect on what he has done - destroyed her home at a time when it is impossible to rebuild. There is no grass to build a new home and the December winds are cold Thou saw the fields laid bare an' wast, and sharp. Her preparations An' weary Winter comin fast, for winter are gone! Big = An' cozie here, beneath the blast, build; foggage = moss; Thou thought to dwell, baith = both Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. Where the mouse had thought that she was prepared for winter in her comfortable little nest in the That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, ground, now she is faced Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! with trying to survive in a Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, most unfriendly climate, But house or hald. with little or no hope in To thole the Winter's sleety dribble, sight. cosie = comfortable; An' cranreuch cauld! coulter; = iron cutter in front of a ploughshare It seems probable that here the poet is really comparing But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane, his own hard times with that In proving foresight may be vain: of the mouse – a life of The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, harsh struggle, with little or Gang aft agley, no reward at the end. monie An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, = many; thole = to endure; For promis'd joy! dribble = drizzle; cranreuch = hoar-frost; cauld = cold How many times have Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me! people glibly trotted out, The present only toucheth thee: ―The best laid schemes‖ But Och! I backward cast my e'e, without realising that they On prospects drear! were quoting from Burns? An' forward, tho' I canna see, The sadness, the despair, I guess an' fear! the insight contained within this verse are truly remarkable and deeply moving. no ‗thy lane = not alone; gan aft agley = often go awry This final verse reveals the absolute despondency that Burns was feeling at this stage in his life. Not at all what one might expect from a young man of twenty-six, supposedly so popular with the lassies, and with his whole life ahead of him, but nevertheless expressing sentiments with which many of us today can easily relate.
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