CHAPTER XIV 



THE FIELD-MOUSE {Apodemus sylvaticua) 



TO A FIELD-MOUSE 



On turning Her up in Her Nest with the Plough, 

 November 1785. 



Wee,' sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie. 

 Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 

 Thou needna 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 maks thee startle 

 At me, thy poor earth-bom 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 ! 

 Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! 

 An' naething now to big a new ane 



O' foggage green ! 

 An' bleak December's win's ensuin', 



Baith sneU an' keen ! 

 153 



