To a Mouse On turning her up in her nest, with the plough, November, 1785 Wee, sleeket, cowran, 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 mony 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 a-gley, 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! Back to Sources Back to Addresses & Essays A Bottle And Friend Here's a bottle and an honest friend! What wad ye wish for mair, man? Wha kens, before his life may end, What his share may be o' care, man ? Then catch the moments as they fly, And use them as ye ought, man : Believe me, happiness is shy, And comes not aye when sought, man. Back Anna Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, A place where body saw na; Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine The gowden locks of Anna. The hungry Jew in wilderness Rejoicing o'er his manna Was naething to my hiney bliss Upon the lips of Anna. Ye Monarchs take the East and West Frae Indus to Savannah: Gie me within my straining grasp The melting form of Anna! There I'll despise Imperial charms, An empress or sultana, While dying raptures in her arms, I give an' take wi' Anna! Awa, thou flaunting God of Day! Awa, thou pale Diana! Ilk star, gae hide thy twinkling ray, When I'm to meet my Anna! Come, in thy raven plumage, Night (Sun, Moon, and Stars, withdrawn a') And bring an Angel-pen to write My transports with my Anna! - postscript - The Kirk an State may join, an tell To do sic things I mauna: The Kirk an State may gae to Hell, And I'll gae to my Anna. She is the sunshine o' my e'e, To live but her I canna: Had I on earth but wishes three, The first should be my Anna. Back to Sources Back to Addresses A Red, Red Rose O, my luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: My luve's like a melodie, That's sweetly play'd in tune. So fair thou art, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: And I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands of life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only luve, And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my luve. Tho' it were ten thousand mile. Back to Sources Back to Addresses Bruce's Address at Bannockburn Scots! wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots! wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory! Now's the day, and now's the hour; See the front o' battle lower: See approach proud Edward's power - Chains and slavery! Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! What for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw? Freeman stand, or freeman fa'? Let him on wi' me! By oppression's woes and pains! By your sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow! - Let us do or die! Back Address to a Haggis Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy o' a grace As lang's my arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin wad help to mend a mill In time o' need, While thro' your pores the dews distil Like amber bead. His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich! Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive: Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive, Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve, Are bent like drums; Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, Bethankit 'hums. Is there that o're his French ragout Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi' perfect sconner, Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view On sic a dinner? Poor devil! see him ower his trash, As feckless as a wither'd rash, His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit; Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, O how unfit! But mark the Rustic, haggis fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread. Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He'll mak it whissle; An' legs an' arms, an' heads will sned, Like taps o' thrissle. Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o' fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies; But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, Gie her a haggis! Back to Sources Back to Itinerary Auld Lang Syne Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And auld lang syne! Chorus - For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp! And surely I'll be mine! And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. Chorus... We twa hae run about the braes, And pou'd the gowans fine; But we've wander'd mony a weary fit Sin' auld lang syne. Chorus... We twa hae paidl'd in the burn, Frae morning sun till dine; But seas between us briad hae roar'd Sin' auld lang syne. Chorus... And there's a hand, my trusty fiere! And gie's a hand o' thine! And we'll tak' a right gude-willie waught, For auld lang syne. Chorus... Back to Itinerary Back to Addresses & Essays