'Cotter 's Saturday Night, The' by Robert Burns
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Inscribed to Robert Aiken, Esq.
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.
(Gray, "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard")
My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend!
No mercenary bard his homage pays;
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end:
My dearest meed a friend's esteem and praise.
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,
The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene;
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways;
What Aiken in a cottage would have been;
Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween!
November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh,
The short'ning winter day is near a close;
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh,
The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose;
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes,--
This night his weekly moil is at an end,--
Collects his spades, his mattocks and his hoes,
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend,
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend.
At length his lonely cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee.
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonilie,
His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile,
The lisping infant prattling on his knee,
Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile,
An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil.
Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in,
At service out, amang the farmers roun';
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin
A cannie errand to a neibor toun:
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown,
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e,
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown,
Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee,
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.
With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet,
An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers:
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet;
Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears.
The parents partial eye their hopeful years;
Anticipation forward points the view;
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers,
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new;
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.
Their master's an' their mistress's command
The younkers a' are warned to obey;
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand,
An' ne'er tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play:
"An' O! be sure to fear the Lord alway,
An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night!
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,
Implore his counsel and assisting might:
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!"
But hark! a rap comes gently to the door.
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same,
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor,
To do some errands, and convoy her hame.
The wily mother sees the conscious flame
Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek;
Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name,
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak;
Weel-pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake.
Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben,
A strappin youth; he takes the mother's eye;
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill taen;
The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye.
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy,
But, blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave;
The mother wi' a woman's wiles can spy
What maks the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave,
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave.
O happy love! where love like this is found!
O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
I've paced much this weary, mortal round,
And sage experience bids me this declare--
"If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,
In other's arms breathe out the tender tale,
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale."
Is there, in human form, that bears a heart,
A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth!
That can with studied, sly, ensnaring art
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth?
Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth!
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd?
Is there no pity, no relenting truth,
Points to the parents fondling o'er their child,
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild?
But now the supper crowns their simple board,
The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food;
The soupe their only hawkie does afford,
That yont the hallan snugly chows her cud.
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood,
To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck fell,
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid;
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell,
How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell.
The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,
They round the ingle form a circle wide;
The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace,
The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride;
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,
His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare;
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
He wales a portion with judicious care;
And, "Let us worship God," he says with solemn air.
They chant their artless notes in simple guise;
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim:
Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name,
Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays.
Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame;
The tickl'd ear no heart-felt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they, with our Creator's praise.
The priest-like father reads the sacred page,
How Abram was the friend of God on high;
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage
With Amalek's ungracious progeny;
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire;
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire;
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.
Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How He, who bore in Heaven the second name
Had not on earth whereon to lay His head:
How His first followers and servants sped;
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land:
How he, who lone in Patmos banished,
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand,
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by Heaven's command.
Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King,
The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing,"
That thus they all shall meet in future days:
There ever bask in uncreated rays,
No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear,
Together hymning their Creator's praise,
In such society, yet still more dear,
While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride
In all the pomp of method and of art,
When men display to congregations wide
Devotion's ev'ry grace except the heart!
The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
But haply in some cottage far apart
May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul,
And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enrol.
Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest;
The parent-pair their secret homage pay,
And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request,
That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest,
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride,
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best,
For them and for their little ones provide;
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.
From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs,
That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad:
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
"An honest man's the noblest work of God":
And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road,
The cottage leaves the palace far behind:
What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd!
O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent!
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
And, oh! may Heaven their simple lives prevent
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile!
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd isle.
O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide
That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart,
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part,--
(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art,
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!)
O never, never Scotia's realm desert,
But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard,
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard!
Editor 1 Interpretation
Cotter's Saturday Night: A Literary Criticism and Interpretation
Oh, what a joy it is to discuss one of Robert Burns' most famous poems, Cotter's Saturday Night! This masterpiece of Scottish literature has captured the hearts of readers for centuries, and for good reason. In this 4,000-word literary criticism and interpretation, we will delve deep into the themes, language, and structure of this classic poem, exploring how Burns uses his words to paint a vivid picture of life in rural Scotland in the eighteenth century.
Background
But first, a little background. Robert Burns was a Scottish poet who lived from 1759 to 1796. He was born into a farming family, and much of his poetry reflects the experiences and struggles of rural life. Cotter's Saturday Night was initially published in 1786 as part of a collection of Burns' poems titled Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect. The poem is written in Scots, a dialect of English spoken in Scotland, and is based on Burns' own experiences growing up in a small farming community.
Themes
At its core, Cotter's Saturday Night is a celebration of family, community, and tradition. The poem depicts a typical Saturday evening in the home of a Scottish farmer and his family. As the evening progresses, the family gathers around the fire, sharing stories and songs, and reflecting on the week that has passed. The poem is filled with warmth and affection for the simple pleasures of life, and Burns paints a picture of a close-knit community that values hard work, faith, and family above all else.
One of the key themes of the poem is the importance of tradition. Burns portrays the family's Saturday night ritual as a time-honored tradition that has been passed down through generations. The poem is filled with references to Scottish customs and traditions, such as the singing of psalms and the recitation of prayers. Burns suggests that these traditions are an essential part of Scottish identity and must be preserved.
Another important theme of the poem is the idea of social class. Burns was a keen observer of the social hierarchy in Scotland, and he depicts the Cotter family as belonging to the lower rungs of society. However, he does not view this as a negative thing. Rather, he celebrates the simple, honest way of life that the Cotter family embodies, and suggests that their lack of material wealth is more than compensated for by their strong sense of community and tradition.
Language
One of the most striking aspects of Cotter's Saturday Night is its use of Scots dialect. Burns was a master of this language, and his use of regional words and phrases adds a depth and authenticity to the poem that would be impossible to achieve in standard English. The poem is filled with words that may be unfamiliar to non-Scots speakers, such as "haly" (holy), "weel-wight" (strong and able), and "girnin" (complaining).
However, Burns' use of Scots also serves a deeper purpose. In choosing to write in this dialect, he was making a political statement. The Scottish people had long been treated as second-class citizens by the English, and by writing in Scots, Burns was asserting the value and importance of Scottish culture and identity.
Structure
Cotter's Saturday Night is written in rhyming couplets, with each stanza consisting of eight lines. The poem has a regular meter, with each line containing six syllables. This strict structure gives the poem a sense of order and stability, which is in keeping with the theme of tradition that runs throughout.
However, Burns also uses the structure of the poem to create a sense of movement and progression. The poem begins with a description of the family's preparations for Saturday night, and then moves on to a description of the evening itself. As the night progresses, the tone of the poem shifts from one of anticipation and excitement to one of reflection and contemplation.
Interpretation
So, what can we take away from our analysis of Cotter's Saturday Night? At its heart, this poem is a celebration of the things that make life worth living: family, community, and tradition. Burns uses his words to create a vivid picture of a close-knit Scottish community, where the simple pleasures of life are valued above all else.
However, the poem is not just a nostalgic look back at a bygone era. Burns was writing at a time of great political and social change in Scotland, and he was acutely aware of the challenges that lay ahead. By celebrating the traditions and customs of his people, he was asserting their value and importance in the face of an uncertain future.
In conclusion, Cotter's Saturday Night is a beautiful and timeless poem that speaks to the heart of what it means to be Scottish. Burns' use of language and structure creates a powerful sense of nostalgia and longing, while also celebrating the strength and resilience of the Scottish people. This poem is a true masterpiece of Scottish literature, and it continues to inspire and delight readers to this day.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
Robert Burns is a name that is synonymous with Scottish literature, and his poem "The Cotter's Saturday Night" is one of his most famous works. Written in 1785, the poem is a celebration of the simple pleasures of life and the importance of family and community. In this analysis, we will explore the themes, structure, and language of the poem, and examine why it has endured as a classic of Scottish literature.
The poem is written in the form of a narrative, and tells the story of a family living in a rural Scottish cottage. The father, or "cotter," works hard all week to provide for his family, and on Saturday night they come together to enjoy each other's company and celebrate the end of the working week. The poem is divided into six stanzas, each of which explores a different aspect of the family's Saturday night ritual.
The first stanza sets the scene, describing the cottage and the family gathered around the fire. The language is rich and evocative, with phrases like "the clean hearth-stane" and "the crackling ingle" conjuring up images of warmth and comfort. The family is described as "auld," or old, which suggests that they are a traditional family with strong ties to their community and their heritage.
The second stanza introduces the father, who is described as "the patriarchal pride" of the family. He is a hardworking man who takes pride in his work and his family, and his presence is a source of comfort and security for his wife and children. The language in this stanza is more formal and elevated than in the first, with phrases like "the social league" and "the holy hearth" suggesting that the family's Saturday night ritual is a sacred and important tradition.
The third stanza introduces the mother, who is described as "the gentle consort" of the father. She is a nurturing presence in the family, and her love and care are essential to the family's happiness. The language in this stanza is softer and more lyrical than in the previous two, with phrases like "the tender gush" and "the fond kiss" conveying the warmth and affection between the mother and her children.
The fourth stanza introduces the children, who are described as "the younglings" of the family. They are full of energy and enthusiasm, and their presence adds a sense of joy and vitality to the family's Saturday night ritual. The language in this stanza is playful and lively, with phrases like "the sweet wee things" and "the little dearies" conveying the affection and fondness that the family feels for their children.
The fifth stanza explores the family's religious beliefs, and their faith is described as "the hallowed tie" that binds them together. The language in this stanza is more formal and elevated than in the previous stanzas, with phrases like "the sacred lowe" and "the heavenly flame" suggesting that the family's faith is a source of strength and inspiration for them.
The final stanza brings the poem to a close, with the family gathered around the table to enjoy their meal. The language in this stanza is warm and celebratory, with phrases like "the blythe auld carl" and "the canty dame" conveying the sense of joy and happiness that the family feels as they come together to celebrate the end of the working week.
One of the key themes of the poem is the importance of family and community. The family in the poem is depicted as a close-knit unit, bound together by love, faith, and tradition. The poem celebrates the simple pleasures of life, such as gathering around the fire and sharing a meal, and suggests that these small moments of joy are what make life worth living.
Another theme of the poem is the importance of hard work and dedication. The father in the poem is a hardworking man who takes pride in his work and his family, and his example is a source of inspiration for his children. The poem suggests that hard work and dedication are essential to a happy and fulfilling life, and that the rewards of such work are the love and respect of one's family and community.
The language of the poem is rich and evocative, with a mix of formal and informal language that reflects the different aspects of the family's Saturday night ritual. The use of Scots dialect adds to the poem's authenticity and gives it a sense of place and time. The poem is also notable for its use of imagery, with phrases like "the clean hearth-stane" and "the fond kiss" painting vivid pictures in the reader's mind.
In conclusion, "The Cotter's Saturday Night" is a classic of Scottish literature that celebrates the simple pleasures of life and the importance of family and community. The poem's themes of hard work, dedication, and faith are timeless, and its language and imagery continue to captivate readers today. Robert Burns was a master of his craft, and this poem is a testament to his skill as a poet and his love for his homeland and its people.
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