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In honour of Valentine's Day If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee; If ever wife was happy in a man, Compare with me ye women if you can. I prize thy love more then whole Mines of gold, Or all the riches that the East doth hold. My love is such that Rivers cannot quench, Nor ought but love from thee, give recompence. Thy love is such I can no way repay, The heavens reward thee manifold I pray. Then while we live, in love let's so persever, That when we live no more, we may live ever. --Anne Bradstreet | ||||||||||
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 touched FAIR is the white star of twilight, and the sky clearer At the day's end; But she is fairer, and she is dearer. She, my heart's friend! Far stars and fair in the skies bending, Low stars of hearth fires and wood smoke ascending, The meadow-lark's nested, The night hawk is winging; Home through the star-shine the hunter comes singing. Fair is the white star of twilight, And the moon roving To the sky's end; But she is fairer, better worth loving, She, my heart's friend. Mary Austin - 'Medicine Songs' University of Virginia Library | ||||||||||
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 soreIrish News 22/01/2009 **Download 'The Poems and Songs of Robert Burns' here from Project Gutenberg People around the world are preparing to recite poetry in praise of the haggis before raising a wee dram to Rabbie Burns on the 250th anniversary of his birth. Rebecca Black reports  Men in kilts, a rise in whisky sales and misty-eyed recitals of Scottish poetry. It can only mean one thing – the annual celebration of Robert Burns.While few people expect to be so fondly remembered a century after their death, in 1795 Burns confidently prophesied to his wife Jean Armour: “Ay, Jean, they’ll think more of me in a hundred years after this.” While this weekend marks 250 years since the Scottish bard was born, it is clear that – like the amber-coloured drink he loved – his spirit has lost none of its potency. Born in Alloway, Ayrshire, on January 25 1759, Burns lived a relatively brief but colourful life before dying aged 37 of rheumatic fever, the same day his wife gave birth to a son. He stayed until the age of seven in a house built by his farmer father William (now the Burns Cottage Museum). Then his family were forced to sell up and take up a tenancy. There, as the eldest of seven, Burns experienced a life of poverty. The severe manual labour of the farm left its traces in a premature stoop and weakened constitution. With little time for regular schooling, he received much of his education from his father, who despite their circumstances believed strongly in its importance. Flourishing despite this difficult upbringing, Burns made his name with an uncanny ability to observe everyday life. He wrote in Scots and standard English and one of his best-known pieces is Auld Lang Syne, traditionally sung at Hogmanay, as well as Scots Wha Hae, which for a long time served as an unofficial national anthem. Gordon Lucy, director of the Ulster Society at Queen’s University Belfast, contends that Burns speaks to everyone – from Ireland to the United States and Russia. “Burns was very popular in the former Soviet Union through the translations. By 1964 he had sold more than a million copies,” he said. “In 1787 James Magee of Bridge Street, Belfast, published the first edition of Burns’s poetry outside Scotland. “This is a measure of Burns’s popularity in Ulster.” Mr Lucy said that, while the poetry was published with a glossary to help explain the language, it was not needed in Ireland. “In Ulster, volumes of Burns are found with the poems well thumbed but the glossary in almost pristine condition,” he said. “Quite simply, Ulster people understood Burns’s vocabulary. Many of them even spoke the same language.” Today, Belfast hosts one of the finest collections of Burns material in the world, courtesy of Belfast-based businessman Andrew Gibson, originally from Ayrshire, who donated it to the Linen Hall Library. As well as boasting many fans in Ireland, Burns also had relatives who moved across the Irish Sea. His sister Mary lived in Co Louth and her grave can still be seen in Dundalk while a park outside the town of Knockbridge was named after her. The late Tyrone writer Benedict Kiely summed up Burns’s enduring popularity when he said: “Burns became a popular folk author in Ulster, Catholic and Protestant, as he never was or could have been in any other part of Ireland. “Burns was the best of us.” Tips for Burns Night The following is recommended for celebrating Burns Night: • Reciting of the Selkirk Grace: Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it; But we hae meat, and we can eat, Sae let the Lord be thankit. • Entrance of the haggis. Diners stand and slow-clap as a piper leads the haggis carried by the chef. • The host then recites the eight-verse Address to a Haggis. Upon reaching the line “An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight”, the host stabs the haggis with a sharp knife. Guests applaud and toast the haggis with a glass of whisky. • A typical menu would be: cock-a-leekie soup, haggis warm reeking, rich wi’ champit tatties, bashed neeps (haggis with mashed potatoes and turnips with onion gravy), tyspy laird (sherry trifle), a tassie o’ coffee. • A speech about Robert Burns. • Toast to the lassies – originally a thank you to the ladies for preparing the food, with a bit of humour, and then a response from the lassies. • Poems and songs performed by guests. • The evening should end with guests standing, linking hands and singing 'Auld Lang Syne.' | ||||||||||
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 Listen to Dylan 'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form. "Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm." And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm. "Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm." Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved Everything up to that point had been left unresolved. Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm. "Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm." I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail, Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail, Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn. "Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm." Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair. She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns. "Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm." Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed. Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn. "Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm." Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn. "Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm." I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove And old men with broken teeth stranded without love. Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn? "Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm." In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes I bargained for salvation an' they gave me a lethal dose. I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn. "Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm." Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine. If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born. "Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm." | ||||||||||
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'There is a light which cannot ever be extinguished. It is inside of you. It is you. Let your light so shine upon the world that the world will know Who You Really Are -- and its people will know why they really are as well, through the light of your example. The darkness of our world awaits you -- not to engulf you, but to be transformed by you. During this Season of the Light, be its Source for all those who search for Joy.' --Neal Donald Walsch | ||||||||||
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 'See how the sacred old flamingoes come, Painting with shadow all the marble steps: Aged and wise, they seek their wonted perches Within the temple, devious walking, made To wander by their melancholy minds.' --William Butler Yeats Image | ||||||||||
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'When you hold resentment toward another, you are bound to that person or condition by an emotional link that is stronger than steel. Forgiveness is the only way to dissolve that link and get free.' --thinkexist.com | ||||||||||
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 The mist has left the greening plain, The dew-drops shine like fairy rain, The couquette rose awakes again Her lovely self adorning. The Wind is hiding in the trees, A sighing, soothing, laughing tease, Until the rose says “Kiss me, please,” ‘Tis morning, ‘tis morning. With staff in hand and careless-free, The wanderer fares right jauntily, For towns and houses are, thinks he, For scorning, for scorning. My soul is swift upon the wing, And in its deeps a song I bring; Come, Love, and we together sing, “ ‘Tis morning, ‘tis morning.” Mural link Poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar. This link will take you to a whole collection of his poetry. I really like his work. He makes your heart sing with his lyrical words. | ||||||||||
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Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit. --Peter Ustinov | ||||||||||
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 SINCE thou hast given me this good hope, O God, That while my footsteps tread the flowery sod And the great woods embower me, and white dawn And purple even sweetly lead me on From day to day, and night to night, O God, My life shall no wise miss the light of love; But ever climbing, climb above Man's one poor star, man's supine lands, Into the azure steadfastness of death, My life shall no wise lack the light of love, My hands not lack the loving touch of hands; But day by day, while yet I draw my breath, And day by day, unto my last of years, I shall be one that has a perfect friend. His heart shall taste my laughter and my tears, And his kind eyes shall lead me to the end. --Robert Louis Stevenson Painting by Jim Warren | ||||||||||
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