[776] To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest, With The Plough

Guest poem submitted independently by Suresh Ramasubramanian,
<suresh@>, and William Johns,
<William_Johns@>:

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' 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 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' 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.

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, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

	-- Robert Burns

[Suresh's Commentary]

Robert Burns was born in 1759, Ayrshire, Scotland. He grew up on his
father's farm, and was self-taught. When he was just 15 years old, his
father died, saddling him with an  unproductive farm. His poetry gradually
became popular though, so much so that he published a book of poems in 1786
(aged 27) to finance a trip to Jamaica. The book sold much better than
anticipated, but Burns decided to go to Edinburgh and publish a "better"
second edition of his poems. He died only 10 years later at the early age of
37, but not before writing some excellent poetry such as "Auld Lang Syne"
(till today a staple of new year parties in England) and "To a mouse ...".

This poem has one immortal line, which has passed into (fairly) common
English usage -
  The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
  Gang aft agley,
Here's where Steinbeck got the title of his "Of Mice and Men", by the way.

The poem is written in his typical "broad scots" and deals with a field
mouse whose nest he apparently destroyed when plowing a field. Burns sees
the mouse scuttling out of its nest, cowering and shivering in terror (and
cold? it is mid-winter after all) in front of him. He starts off on the poor
mouse suffering because of his actions, and then reassures it that it only
has to fear the present, whereas he has had a dreary past, and "guesses and
fears" his unseen but easily guessed future.

Nothing at all would have differentiated this poem from the millions of
sentimental and tear-jerking verses churned out by assorted poets (and
ridiculed by several others) - but for the fact that Burns seems to have
opened his heart to the mouse, and speaks to it as if he's trying to cheer
up an old friend who has somehow fallen upon hard times.

The broad scots is an added bonus, making this poem a delight to read aloud
(or to listen to). For what it's worth, the "r"s are rolled out here, ...
rrrr ... almost like in French.

http://www.robertburns.org/works/75.html has a version with hyperlinks to a
glossary of the scottish words.

Suresh.

[William's Commentary]

One of my favorites. When I was a kid, we caught a mouse in the kitchen. He
became the family pet, named "Wee sleeket cowran tim'rous beastie", and he
lived a long and happy life in his new home. Kind of the exact opposite of
what happened in the poem...

Bill.

From: Gregory Marton <gremio@>


A very dear young friend has just read _Of Mice and Men_ by John Steinbeck,
and I found myself wanting to give her this poem as context.  But though
beautiful and tantalizingly close to understandable, it still bears
translation.  I've combined the best of several other translations (see
below) into what I hope is the most readable yet:


To a Mouse                                   translation
					     
Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie,      Small, sleek, cowering, timorous beast,
O, what panic's in thy breastie!             Oh, what panic is in your breast! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,            You need not start away so hasty
Wi' bickering brattle!                       With a hurrying scamper!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,        I would be loath to run and chase you,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!                        With a murderous spade!
					     
I'm truly sorry Man's dominion               I'm truly sorry that Man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,            Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,              And justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle,                    Which makes you startled (afraid)
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,       At me, your poor, earth-born companion
An' fellow-mortal!                           And fellow mortal!
					     
I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;     I doubt not that you may steal;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!     So what?  Poor beast, you must live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave                   An odd ear from twenty four sheaves of corn
    'S a sma' request:                            is a small request:
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,             I'll get a blessing with the rest,
An' never miss't!                            And never miss it!
					     
Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!            Your tiny housie, too, is in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!       Its feeble walls the winds are strewing!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,         And nothing now, from which to build a new one
O' foggage green!                            Of foliage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,           And bleak December's winds ensuing
Baith snell an' keen!                        Both bitter and keen (sharp)!
					     
Thou saw the fields laid bare an' wast,      You saw the fields laid bare and wasted
An' weary Winter comin fast,                 And weary Winter coming fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,           And cosy here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,                       You thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past           Until crash!  the cruel plow passed
Out thro' thy cell.                          Right through your cell.
					     
That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,     That tiny heap of leaves and stubble (grain stalks)
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!          Has cost you many a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,   Now you are turned out for your trouble
But house or hald.                           Without house or home (belongings),
To thole the Winter's sleety dribble,        To endure the Winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!                         and frosty cold.
					     
But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane,            But Mousie, you are not alone
In proving foresight may be vain:            In proving that foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,       The best laid schemes (plans) of mice and men
Gang aft agley,                              Go oft astray (often go awry)
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,      And leave us nothing but grief and pain
For promis'd joy!                            Instead of promised joy!
					     
Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!      Still, you are blessed, compared with me!
The present only toucheth thee:              Only this moment touches you: 
But Och! I backward cast my e'e,             But oh!  I backward cast my eye
On prospects drear!                          On prospects turned to sadness!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,               And though forward I cannot see,
I guess an' fear!                            I guess and fear!



What doesn't come through in the translation that's so obvious in the
original is the feeling of benign friendliness and caring of the man for
the mouse, as Lennie had for his dead mouse and puppy, as Candy had for his
old dog, as George had for Lennie.

"Silly" is so much better a word for this than "feeble"; "beastie" and
"wee-bit" so much cuter than their less diminutive counterparts; the
familiar "thee" so much more intimate than the modern "you".

It's the same feeling I get from Frost's "A Considerable Speck" [Poem 917].  
In both poems, the authors speak from their own daily routines, coming
across a small, helpless animal, whose fate comes through their hands. But
as both poems finish, coming back to the man, to his world, we are left
with sadness and loneliness.  When George pulls the trigger, he withdraws
from the dream he maintained for and with Lennie, and accepts his solitude.

sources for translation: 
         http://www.electricscotland.com/burns/mouse.html
         http://www.robertburns.org/works/75.html
         http://www.worldburnsclub.com/poems/translations/554.htm
         http://www.gmsys.net/teachers/english/novels/micemen/micemen.htm 
         http://www.oed.com 



-- 
   ..------~~~--.__     Gregory Adam Marton
  /               c~\	Graduate Student, Natural Language Understanding
  /             \__ `\  
  |  /~~--__/  /'\ ~~'  Gremio @     acm.org     mit.edu     ai.mit.edu
 /'/'\ |    | |`\ \_    
`-,)  `-,)  `-,) `-,)   Never go to bed mad.  Stay up and fight!

From: "Pemms Info" <info@>

Hi,

Re http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/776.html, this is a useful translation of Burns's
work. Perhaps you could consider linking to our Alexandria Burns club website where you will find
lots of original work, including translations, of Burns. (This is a no profit site dedicated to the
promotion of Robert Burns and his works.)

See www.robertburns.org.uk

Regards,

Bryan Weir
Member