The Prince George Symphony Orchestra held a Robbie Burns Day supper in recognition of the famed Scottish poet as a fundraiser Saturday, Jan. 25 at the Coast Inn of the North.
The traditional Scottish supper, attended by about 130 people, featured a meal complete with haggis, which was piped in by local piper Ian McInnis.
Bruce Arnott delivered the Address to the Haggis, ceremonially cutting the haggis from end to end as instructed in the text of the poem. The poem was followed by a toast with Scotch whisky and the meal began.
A traditional Burns event has many stages throughout the night, with speeches, toasts and readings of Burns' works.
Address to a Haggis
Nice seeing your honest, chubby face,
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Above them all you take your place,
Belly, tripe, or links:
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.
The groaning platter there you fill,
Your buttocks like a distant hill,
Your pin would help to mend a mill
In time of need,
While through your pores the dews distill
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour sharpen,
And cut you up with practiced skill,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like any ditch;
And then, Oh what a glorious sight,
Warm-steaming, rich!
Then, spoon for spoon, they stretch and strive:
Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
'Til all their well-swollen bellies soon
Are tight as drums;
Then old Master, most likely to burst,
"Thanks be" hums.
Is there one, that over his French ragout,
Or olio that would give pause to a sow,
Or fricassee that would make her spew
With perfect loathing,
Looks down with sneering, scornful view
On such a dinner?
Poor devil! See him over his trash,
As feeble as a withered rush,
His spindly leg a good whip-lash,
His fist a nit:
Through bloody flood or field to dash,
Oh how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his sturdy fist a blade,
He'll make it whistle;
And legs and arms, and heads will cut,
Like tops of thistle
You Pow'rs, that make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill of fare,
Old Scotland wants no watery ware
That slops in bowls:
But, if You wish her grateful prayer,
Give her a Haggis
