Т.В. Артеменко, Е.В. Кривощекова, Е.В. Кравченко, Н.Е. Николаева - Reader in Language and Culture (1098538), страница 19

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The same year his beloved three year old daughter Elizabethdied.Years of working in the fields and a penchant for debauchery and drink nodoubt contributed to Burns’ ill-health, but there is much speculation as to whatcaused his death. He did contract rheumatic fever as stated in a letter to his friendMrs. Dunlop of Dumfries on 31 July, 1796. Under the care of Doctor Maxwell, heknew his prognosis was grim. With four surviving children and his wife due tohave her ninth at any moment, Burns wrote her father to send assistance for herconfinement. Robert Burns died on 21 July, 1796, aged thirty-seven, at his home inMill Vennel, now called Burns House. His son Maxwell, named after his doctor,was born three days later. Burns' remains now rest in the Mausoleum in StMichael's Kirkyard. Jean Armour died in 1834 and now rests beside him.129Robert Burns is now considered a pioneer in the Romantic, socialist, andliberalism movements.

While he often wrote with light-hearted humour, some ofhis works with their universal humanistic appeal contributed to his becoming aScottish cultural icon. Burns' “Scots Wha Hae” (1793) served as an unofficialnational anthem for many years. Inspired by his admiration of 13th century patriotWilliam Wallace and his demise by the English, he penned it after the charge ofsedition and trial of Thomas Muir.

It is written in the form of a speech given byRobert the Bruce before the battle of Bannockburn, during which Scotlandregained its independence from England;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!Wha will be a traitor knave?Wha will 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 on wi' me!130By 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!Robert Burns' birthday is now celebrated the world over as “Robbie BurnsNight” with special suppers of cock-a-leekie soup, haggis, and typsy laird fordessert.

Guests Address the Haggis, Toast the Lasses with Whiskey, and recite hispoems and sing his songs. Burns’ “Auld Lang Syne” is still sung to celebrate theNew Year and Scottish Hogmany (last day of the year). Many of his songs andpoems on this site have notes by Burns himself, and Allan Cunningham, whoedited The Complete Works of Robert Burns in 1855. In some cases there is morethan one version of the same poem or song. Some of them are revisions by Burnsof older works.A Man’s A Man for A’ ThatIs there for honest povertyThat hangs his head, an’ a’ thatThe coward slave, we pass him byWe dare be poor for a’ thatFor a’ that, an’ a’ thatOur toil’s obscure and a’ thatThe rank is but the guinea’s stampThe man’s the gowd for a’ that131What though on hamely fare we dineWear hoddin grey, an’ a’ thatGie fools their silks, and knaves their wineA man’s a man, for a’ thatFor a’ that, an’ a’ thatTheir tinsel show an’ a’ thatThe honest man, though e’er sae poorIs king o’ men for a’ thatYe see yon birkie ca’d a lordWha struts an’ stares an’ a’ thatTho’ hundreds worship at his wordHe’s but a coof for a’ thatFor a’ that, an’ a’ thatHis ribband, star and a’ thatThe man o’ independent mindHe looks an’ laughs at a’ thatA prince can mak’ a belted knightA marquise, duke, an’ a’ thatBut an honest man’s aboon his mightGude faith, he maunna fa’ thatFor a’ that an’ a’ thatTheir dignities an’ a’ thatThe pith o’ sense an’ pride o’ worthAre higher rank that a’ thatThen let us pray that come it may(as come it will for a’ that)132That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earthShall bear the gree an’ a’ thatFor a’ that an’ a’ thatIt’s coming yet for a’ thatThat man to man, the world o’erShall brithers be for a’ that.

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