Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Ayrshire in 1759 to a farming family. From a young age he worked on the farm, turning to writing in an attempt to find "some kind of counterpoise for his circumstances". Following the death of his father, Burns contemplated emigration to the West Indies to escape both personal and financial difficulties; but in 1786, his collection of Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect was published by John Wilson of Kilmarnock, and its unexpected success led him to reconsider.

Instead, he moved to Edinburgh where he was fêted. He supplemented his income by working as an exciseman but continued to write, contributing songs to James Johnson's Scots Musical Museum and George Thomson's Select Collection of Original Scottish Airs. During the last years of his life, Burns wrote some of his great poetic masterpieces, including ‘The lea-rig’, ‘Tam o'Shanter’ and ‘A red, red rose’. He died in 1796, aged 37, of heart disease exacerbated by the hard manual labour he had undertaken in his youth. His last son, Maxwell, was born shortly afterwards.

Every year, on 25 January, the anniversary of his birth, Scots celebrate Burns Night with a Burns Supper, a traditional celebration consisting of speeches, music and song dedicated to the poet's life and work.

Explore the links below for more information about Robert Burns and how to celebrate Burns Night. Check the link to SPL holdings for material relating to Burns Suppers.

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Related links

› www.robertburns.org

› www.burnsscotland.com

› www.scran.com/robertburns

› www.nls.uk/burns

› www.burnsheritagepark.com

› www.rabbie-burns.com

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Featured poem

from Tam O'Shanter: A Tale

When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses) …

Ah! Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'!
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!
Kate soon will be a woefu woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane of the brig;
There, at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake;
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie's mettle —
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The carlin claught her by the rump,
An left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man, and mother's son, take heed:
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,
Or cutty sarks run in your mind,
Think! ye may buy the joys o'er dear -
Remember Tam o Shanter's mare.

Robert Burns (1759-1796)

from The Canongate Burns edited by Andrew Noble & Patrick Scott Hogg (Canongate, 2001)