Poem by Robert Burns

To a Mouse, on Turning Up Her Nest With the Plough

1.
WEE, sleekit, cow’rin’, tim’rous beastie,
O what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
    Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee
    Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

2.
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!

3.
I doubt na, whiles, 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,
    And never miss ‘t!

4.
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its 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!

5.
Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste,
An’ weary winter comin’ fast,
An’ cozie hers, beneath the blast,
    Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
    Out-thro’ thy cell.

6.
That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee mony 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!

7.
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The beet laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
    Gang aft a-gley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain
    For promis’d joy.

8.
Still thou art blest compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But oh! I backward cast my e’e
    On prospects drear!
An’ forward tho’ I canna see,
    I guess an’ fear!

1. I Gaed a Waefu' Gate Yestreen
2. Blythe Was She
3. Farewell to Ballochmyle
4. Stay My Charmer
5. On a Bank of Flowers

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