To a Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie O, what 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, 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' wast 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!