And not a Muse erect her head
To cowe the blellums?

O Pope, had I thy satire's darts,
To gie the rascals their deserts,
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts,
And tell aloud

Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts

To cheat the crowd.

fellows

G― knows I'm no the thing I should be,
Nor am I even the thing I could be,
But twenty times I rather would be
An atheist clean,

Than under gospel colours hid be,

Just for a screen.

An honest man may like a glass,
An honest man may like a lass;
But mean revenge, and malice fause,
He'll still disdain,

And then cry zeal for gospel laws,
Like some we ken.

They take religion in their mouth;
They talk o' mercy, grace, and truth,
For what? to gie their malice skouth
On some puir wight,

And hunt him down, o'er right and ruth,
To ruin straight.

All hail, Religion! maid divine!
Pardon a Muse sae mean as mine,
Who in her rough imperfect line,

Thus daurs to name thee;

To stigmatise false friends of thine
Can ne'er defame thee.

Though blotch't and foul wi' mony a stain,
And far unworthy of thy train,

With trembling voice I tune my strain
To join with those

Who boldly daur thy cause maintain
In spite o' foes:

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs,
In spite o' undermining jobs,
In spite o' dark banditti stabs

At worth and merit,

By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes,
But hellish spirit.

O Ayr! my dear, my native ground,
Within thy presbyterial bound

A candid liberal band is found
Of public teachers,

As men, as Christians too, renowned,
And manly preachers.

Sir, in that circle you are named;
Sir, in that circle you are famed;

And some, by whom your doctrine's blamed (Which gies you honour),

Even, sir, by them your heart's esteemed, And winning manner.

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en,
And if impertinent I've been,

Impute it not, good sir, in ane

Whase heart ne'er wranged ye,

But to his utmost would befriend

Ought that belanged ye.

TO A MOUSE,

ON TURNING UP HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH,
NOVEMBER, 1785.

It is more than merely likely, that before the end of this year [1785] the notion of publishing had come upon Burns, and that he began accordingly to exert himself vigorously in the composition of poems not strictly, as for the most part hitherto, occasional. "Holding the plough," we are told by Gilbert, "was a favorite situation with Robert for poetic composition, and some of his best verses were pro duced while he was at that exercise."

WEE, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
Oh what a panic's in thy breastie !
Thou need na start awa' sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!

hasty clatter

I wad be laith to rin and chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle !1

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion,

Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor earthborn companion,
And fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; sometimes
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave 2

'S a sma' request:

I'll get a blessin' wi' the laive,
And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'!
And naething now to big a new ane

And bleak December's winds ensuin',

Baith snell and keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste,

And weary winter comin' fast,

rest

build

sharp

1 The stick used for clearing away the clods from the plough.

2 An occasional ear of corn in a thrave-that is, twentyfour sheaves.

8 Stray vegetable materials used by birds, etc., in construct ing nests.

And cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

Till, crash the cruel coulter passed
Out through thy cell

That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,

To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
And cranreuch cauld!

Without-hold

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o' mice and men,
Gang aft a-gley,

And lea'e us nought but grief and pain,
For promised joy.

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me!

The present only toucheth thee:
But, och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!

And forward, though I canna see,
I guess and fear.1

endure

hoar-frost

alone

wrong

1 We have the testimony of Gilbert Burns that this beautiful poem was composed while the author was following the plough. Burns ploughed with four horses, being twice the amount of power now required on most of the soils of Scotland. He required an assistant called a gaudsman, to drive the horses, his own duty being to hold and guide the