To a Mouse

    BY ROBERT BURNS

    On Turning up in Her Nest with the Plough,

    November, 1785

 

      Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie, 

        O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! 

        Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

         Wi’ bickerin brattle! 

         I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee 

         Wi’ murd’ring pattle! 

 

         I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion 

         Has broken Nature’s social union, 

         An’ justifies that ill opinion, 

         Which makes thee startle, 

         At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, 

         An’ fellow-mortal! 

 

         I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; 

         What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! 

         A daimen-icker in a thrave 

         ’S a sma’ request: 

          I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave, 

          An’ never miss ’t! 

 

          Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin! 

          It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin! 

          An’ naething, now, to big a new ane, 

          O’ foggage green! 

          An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin, 

          Baith snell an’ keen! 

 

          Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste, 

          An’ weary Winter comin fast, 

          An’ cozie here, beneath the blast, 

          Thou thought to dwell, 

          Till crash! the cruel coulter past 

          Out thro’ thy cell. 

 

          That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble 

          Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! 

          Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble, 

          But house or hald, 

          To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble, 

          An’ cranreuch cauld! 

 

          But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane, 

          In proving foresight may be vain: 

          The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men 

          Gang aft agley, 

          An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, 

          For promis’d joy! 

 

         Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me! 

         The present only toucheth thee: 

         But Och! I backward cast my e’e, 

          On prospects drear! 

          An’ forward tho’ I canna see, 

          I guess an’ fear!