Seeing Angus has posted...
To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough
1785
Type:
Poem
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!
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, 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,
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 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!
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!