Burns’s address to the mouse may initially suggest something rather sentimental; but read on, and the next verse sees Burns casting himself as the little creature’s fellow-mortal with a shared dignity; while the end reveals Burns facing up to the uncertain realities of life with bleak fortitude. Quite a lot to blend into one poem!

from TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST, WITH

THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER 1785

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,

O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!

Thou need na start awa sae hasty

Wi bickerin 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!

~

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, thou I canna see,

I guess an’ fear!