Tartan Day 2005

Great Scot

In 1998, the U.S. Congress set aside April 6 for honoring the astounding contributions of the Scots to the founding and development of the United States of America. As a result, National Tartan Day, a long-held tradition in Scotland and England, was adopted for celebration in the United States. On March 9, 2005, Congress once again renewed Tartan Day to occur on the 6th day of each following April. Bonny Beehive scholars will want to visit the US site and the UK site for truly fascinating information. Consider it a requirement!

In honor of Tartan Day, the following is an ode penned by the great Scottish poet Robert Burns regarding a man that we in the Beehive refer to as "Uncle Bob." This poem is based upon a rousing speech that Robert the Bruce is supposed to have given to his men prior to the Battle of Bannockburn in 1314, which battle secured the freedom of Scotland.

It is sung to a traditional piping tune, which all good and reasonable people will want to listen to while reading the poem. (Follow the index to "S" to find the tune.)

SCOTS WHA HAE

Scots! wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots! wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory!

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour:
See approach proud Edward's power -
Chains and slavery!

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!

What for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw?
Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?
Let him on wi' me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our 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!

Now, over the objection of The Queen, I submit a second Burns poem, which captures the essence of Scottish cuisine:

TO A HAGGIS

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftan 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.

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.

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!

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.

Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scronful' view
On sic a dinner?

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!

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.

Ye Pow's wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae shinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if you wish her gratefu' pray'r,
Gie her a Haggis!


Scots Aye!

[Queen Shenaynay here] Turning aside from the haggis, per usual, The Queen will now interject a juicy bit on Scots Wha Hae... As Great Scot mentioned, Burns crafted the poem from the legendary address of Robert the Bruce to his troops. Then, curiously, William Walker (not Wallace, mind you!), the reknowned hymn writer, arranged the words of the poem into a hymn entitled "Bruce's Address," which is included in a number of old hymnals, including The Good Old Songs, which I have open in my lap at this moment. The hymn is sung to the same traditional piping tune as the poem. Notice how Walker changes the cause of Scotland into the cause of Christ, and replaces King Edward with Satan.

Bruce's Address

Soldiers of the cross, arise,
Lo, your Captain from the skies,
Holding forth the glitt'ring prize,
Calls to Victory.
Fear not, tho' the battle low'r,
Firmly stand the trying hour
Stand the tempter's utmost pow'r,
Spurn his slavery!

Who the cause of Christ would yield?
Who would leave the battlefield?
Who would cast away his shield?
Let him basely go.
Who for Zion's King will stand?
Who will join the faithful band?
Let him come with heart and hand,
Let him face the foe.

By the mercies of our God,
By Emmanuel's streaming blood,
When alone for us He stood,
Ne'er give up the strife:
Ever to the latest breath,
Hark to what your Captain saith --
"Be thou faithful unto death;
Take the crown of life."


Virtual M&Ms to Gentle Reader Bob Zimmerman for sharing that the Boston Camerata recorded both Scots Wha Hae and Bruce's Address on their cd Travelin' Home. Click on the link and go have a listen!