1. |
Wee, sleekit, cowrin, 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’ murdering 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, 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 !
|
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 win’s ensuing, |
Baith snell an’ keen !
|
5. |
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.
|
6. |
That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble, |
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble ! |
Now thou’s turned 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 best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men |
Gang aft agley, |
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, |
For promis’d joy !
|
8. |
Still thou art blest, compared 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 !
|
Robert Burns |
Classic Poems |
|
[ A Red, Red Rose ] [ To a Mountain Daisy ] [ Address to a Haggis ] [ Address to Edinburgh ] [ Auld Lang Syne ] [ Is there for Honest Poverty ] [ Address to the Unco Guid ] [ The Cotter's Saturday Night ] [ To a Louse ] [ My Heart's in the Highlands ] [ Holy Willie's Prayer ] [ Tam O'Shanter ] [ To a Mouse ] |