Thanks so much, Dwill. I unfortunately wasn't able to open the link but the written poem is enough within itself. 4 dings to the 10power on this one from me.
Concerning Moore's Christmas poem, it's nice in that it evokes tradition, but a poem it is not. But it will always have its place as a continuting tradition, a bit like a very minute, miniature verbal saga.

DWill wrote:I found some read by Scotsmen (and Scotswomen), none that I was really satisfied with, but only because they didn't match my memory of the recording my 11th grade teacher played for the class. I think this might be the first poem I knew I really liked. It's full of humanity and is musical. Four loud dings for me. The link I'll give is kind of strange, a "virtual movie" of Burns reading the poem.

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x614co ... imat_music

The little "movie" is just about as weird as it gets! Thanks, I think.

203. "To a Mouse" by Robert Burns

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie,
O, what panic's in thy breastie!

This might be the best opening line of a poem ever. 4 loud dings from me.

4Dings with or without the Scotsman!!

I used to belong to 'Housewives Register' which was a society for women graduates who were at home raising children - becoming brain dead.

I was Chairman twice over the years when I belonged, and we used to organise all sorts of meetings. One time we all had to bring food and a poem from our native County. The lovely scots lady read 'To a Mouse' and no one can replace her to my mind.

I read 'Albert and the Lion' - because I'm from Lancashire and speak with that accent. It caused much amusement because, although it is very funny, I read it deadpan, with a straight face. I won't post it because you might know it already. Stanley Holloway's version is the most famous.

Oh dammit - I must show you 'Albert and the Lion'

OK, it isn't poetry - but it is funny....and it honestly does reflect the working-class Lancashire humour of my roots.

Albert and the Lion

There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.

A grand little lad was young Albert,
All dressed in his best; quite a swell
With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle,
The finest that Woolworth's could sell.

They didn't think much of the Ocean:
The waves, they were fiddlin' and small,
There was no wrecks and nobody drownded,
Fact, nothing to laugh at at all.

So, seeking for further amusement,
They paid and went into the Zoo,
Where they'd Lions and Tigers and Camels,
And old ale and sandwiches too.

There were one great big Lion called Wallace;
His nose were all covered with scars -
He lay in a somnolent posture,
With the side of his face on the bars.

Now Albert had heard about Lions,
How they was ferocious and wild -
To see Wallace lying so peaceful,
Well, it didn't seem right to the child.

So straightway the brave little feller,
Not showing a morsel of fear,
Took his stick with its 'orse's 'ead 'andle
And pushed it in Wallace's ear.

You could see that the Lion didn't like it,
For giving a kind of a roll,
He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im,
And swallowed the little lad 'ole.

Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence,
And didn't know what to do next,
Said 'Mother! Yon Lion's 'et Albert',
And Mother said 'Well, I am vexed!'

Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom -
Quite rightly, when all's said and done -
Complained to the Animal Keeper,
That the Lion had eaten their son.

The keeper was quite nice about it;
He said 'What a nasty mishap.
Are you sure that it's your boy he's eaten?'
Pa said "Am I sure? There's his cap!'

The manager had to be sent for.
He came and he said 'What's to do?'
Pa said 'Yon Lion's 'et Albert,
'And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too.'

Then Mother said, 'Right's right, young feller;
I think it's a shame and a sin,
For a lion to go and eat Albert,
And after we've paid to come in.'

The manager wanted no trouble,
He took out his purse right away,
Saying 'How much to settle the matter?'
And Pa said "What do you usually pay?'

But Mother had turned a bit awkward
When she thought where her Albert had gone.
She said 'No! someone's got to be summonsed' -
So that was decided upon.

Then off they went to the P'lice Station,
In front of the Magistrate chap;
They told 'im what happened to Albert,
And proved it by showing his cap.

The Magistrate gave his opinion
That no one was really to blame
And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms
Would have further sons to their name.

At that Mother got proper blazing,
'And thank you, sir, kindly,' said she.
'What waste all our lives raising children
To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!'

Marriott Edgar

Thanks, Penelope!

Thank you so much, I kept wanting to go find "To A Mouse" but preferred instead the anticipation. It was worth it, and the movie was neat. A little weird, but neat. I have known that poem my whole life, and of course it gets 4 dings from me.

Thanks Penelope, I enjoyed Albert and the Lion, I had never heard of it before. I'm going to go look for it on YouTube now and see if I can hear it too. I think my grandkids are going to become familiar with this one, although with an American accent, since that's the only one I have

Thanks Penny for Albert and the Lion .. don't you think it could make a good pub name .. the Albert & Lion ... I like the gritty humour and the grittiness of the Burns poem too.Somehow I associate the north of England and Scotland with this sirt of grittiness. I'm not sure about the 'brain dead raising kids' thing, although it sonds like an interesting group. I always found raising kids to have its challenges especially on the creative front. But I do understand that these challenges might not be characterized as 'intellectual' in nature, and parents often need some adult thoughts and conversation. On "The Mouse" what I see in this poem is a sense of peril, of life lived close to the edge, a pervading sense of mortality. Interesting that this sort of thing would be on Burns' mind at 26 years of age. He must have had a tough life.

I'd be interested (and I hope not disappointed) in a biography of Burns. It's always poignant to think about artists who have come to mean so much to posterity but who in their own times could barely survive on their art, or had to labor as Burns did. But, if he hadn't had to labor, then no "To a Mouse," so maybe it's for the best (easy for me to say).

202. "Peace," by Henry Vaughn. This one makes me wonder how many of the 500 are explicitly religious. Could it be as many as 50, or 10%?

MY soul, there is a country
Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged sentry
All skilful in the wars:
There, above noise and danger,
Sweet Peace sits crown'd with smiles,
And One born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.
He is thy gracious Friend,
And—O my soul, awake!—
Did in pure love descend
To die here for thy sake.
If thou canst get but thither,
There grows the flower of Peace,
The Rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress, and thy ease.
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure
But One who never changes—
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.

DWill wrote: 202. "Peace," by Henry Vaughn. This one makes me wonder how many of the 500 are explicitly religious. Could it be as many as 50, or 10%?

I can find little in this poem for me. Can I give it half a ding? I like the first four lines.

Saffron, if this were a chocolate, I wouldn't even give it a lick.....back in the box.....

I Don't like the subject and the dumpity, dumpity dum...rhythm seems incompatible.

Is it because it is pandering to peoples notions, perhaps???

It sound childish.....

There is nothing wrong with childlike, but childish is just not acceptable.