TO A MOUSE

ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE

THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER 1785

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 was be laith to rin an chase thee,
Wi' murdering pattle!

[By the way, "sleekit" means sleek, "bickering brattle" means
scampering away in a hurry, and "pattle" means plough-staff.]

This is the first of the eight verses of Robert Burns' lovely and kindly poem "TO A MOUSE".
From "Poems and Songs of Robert Burns, edited and introduced by James Barke, Collins 1953,
page 111. In the seventh verse we find the famous lines used by John Steinbeck as the title of his tragic story of Lenny:

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft aglay,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Lovely lines of course, in spite the fundamental contradiction in Burns' poetic logic in the last verse when he claims that the Mousie is only touched by the present, and thus, presumably, cannot plan or scheme; but this is to quibble or should we say nibble?  Of course, some would say there can be no such thing as "poetic logic"; but this is to conflate 'logic' with 'poetic logic', not at all the same things!

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!

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