ROBERT BURNS 1759-1796 TO A MOUSE ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, I WEE, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, II I'm truly sorry man's dominion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion III I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; 'S a sma' request; I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, And never miss't! IV Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin! An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 20 V Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 25 That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld! VII But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, Gang aft a-gley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy! 30 35 40 VIII Still thou art blest, compared wi' me! An' forward, tho' I canna see, THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, I My lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend! Gray. 45 My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise: 5 The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; What Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween! II November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; ΙΟ 15 Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. III At length his lonely cot appears in view, Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through, His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnilie, His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil. IV Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. V With joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, 20 25 30 35 40 The mother, wi' her needle and her sheers, 45 VI Their master's an' their mistress's command, They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!' 50 VII But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; 55 60 With heart-struck anxious care, enquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; Weel-pleased the mother hears, it's nae wild worthless rake. VIII Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben; 65 70 What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave; Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. |