Robert Burns Ученицы 8»А» класса Суховерховой Кристины

Robert Burns, Scotland's national poet, was born on January 25, 1759 in Scotland. His father, William Burns, was a poor farmer, There were seven children in the family, and Robert was the eldest. His father knew the value of a good education, and he tried to give his children the best education he could. afford. Robert was sent to school at the age of six, but as his father could not pay for the two sons, Robert and his brother Gilbert attended school in turn. When not at school, the boys helped their father with his work in the fields. But soon the teacher left, and so Burns's father invited a young school teacher to teach the boys. When the teacher left, the poet's father taught the children himself. Reading and writing, arithmetic, English grammar, history, literature, EVene and Latin - that was Robert Burns's education. Robert Burns

Robert's mother knew many Scottish songs and ballads and often sang them to her son in his childhood. His mother's friend Betty told Robert many fantastic tales about devils, fairies and witches. Burns's mother died in She lived long and enjoyed the fame of her poet son. Robert Burns became fond of reading. He read whatever he could lay nis hands on. His favourite writers were Shakespeare, Smolett, Robert Fergusson, a talented Scottish poet ( ). Fergusson's tragic fate deeply touched Burns. Burns devoted many verses to Fergusson. Robert Burns began to write poetry when he was fifteen. He composed verses to the melodies of old folk-songs, which he had admired from his early childhood. He sang of the woods, fields and wonderful valleys of his native land. Burns published some of his poems in 1786

Their success was complete. And Robert Burns became well known and popular. When Burns came to Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland, a new and enlarged edition of his poems was published. But soon Edinburgh society grew tired of him and forgot about the poet.

Robert Burns left Edinburgh and returned to his native village with money enough to buy a farm and marry Jean Armour. Burns devoted to Jean many beautiful poems, such as "I love my Jean", "Bonnie Jean" and many others. Robert Burns's poems were very popular, he always remained poor. He worked hard and destroyed his health. He died in poverty at the age of thirty seven in 1796.

The poetry and songs of Robert Burns are famous all over the world. Robert Burns's poems and verses inspired Beethoven, Schumann, Mendelssohn and other composers who wrote music to them. Burns is a democratic poet. His sympathy was with the poor. That is why his funeral was attended by a crowd of ten thousand. They were the common Scottish people whom he had loved and for whom he had written his poems and songs. The most popular poems of Robert Burns are "The Tree of Liberty", "My Heart's in the Highlands", "A Red, Red Rose" and many others.

My heart's in the Highlands My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth ; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love…

The Tree of Liberty Heard ye o' the tree o' France, I watna what's the name o't; Around the tree the patriots dance, Weel Europe kens the fame o't. It stands where ance the Bastile stood, A prison built by kings, man, When Superstition's hellish brood Kept France in leading-strings, man. Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit, Its virtues a' can tell, man; It raises man aboon the brute, It maks him ken himsel, man. Gif ance the peasant taste a bit, He's greater than a lord, man, And wi' the beggar shares a mite 0' a' he can afford, man…

O, my love is like a red, red rose, That is newly sprung in June. O, my love is like the melody, That is sweetly played in tune. As fair are you, my lovely lass, So deep in love am I, And I will love you still, my Dear, Till all the seas go dry. Till all the seas go dry, my Dear, And the rocks melt with the sun! O I will love you still, my Dear, While the sands of life shall run… A RED, RED ROSE