To a Mouse

Friday, September 6

Today’s post is from Secular Mornings’ guest author, Heather Johnston. The text is an excerpt from To a Mouse, by Robert Burns (1759-1796).

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!

If you, like me, struggle to understand the Scottish dialect, take a look at this modernization from Michael R. Burch:

That flimsy heap of leaves and stubble  
had cost you many a weary nibble!  
Now you're turned out, for all your trouble,  
		less house and hold,  
to endure cold winter's icy dribble  
		and hoarfrosts cold!  
  
But mouse-friend, you are not alone  
in proving foresight may be vain:  
the best-laid schemes of Mice and Men  
		go oft awry,  
and leave us only grief and pain,  
		for promised joy!  
  
Still, friend, you're blessed compared with me!  
Only present dangers make you flee:  
But, ouch!, behind me I can see  
		grim prospects drear!  
While forward-looking seers, we  
		humans guess and fear!

Robert Burns!

---

Robert Burns's claim that the "best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men gang aft agley" is a cliché of course. But as the meta-cliché tells us, clichés become cliché for a reason. I've been thinking about this one lately because it is relevant so frequently. Whether in small ways or large, reality diverges from the plans we lay out so carefully, and often leaves us disappointed.

I've always found this poem slightly callous. Robert Burns having (it is said) just destroyed this mouse's nest, laments that the mouse will be unable to make a new nest and survive winter, and then goes on to claim that actually humans have it worse. I mean, "Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!"? Easy for you to say, Robert. You're not the one about to freeze to death.

Viewed another way, Burns's combination of empathy for the mouse and of sadness for himself might be an antidote to the sorrow of experiencing plans go wrong and "lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain." After all, this is a shared condition. The mouse in the field, the poet in eighteenth century Scotland, and you and I all share the experience of watching our plans fall apart and a new reality emerge. 

Empathy lets us use these moments to create a sense of meaning and connection. This isn't about finding a silver lining in suffering; it's about fully recognizing our suffering and adding an element of compassion for ourselves and others in those moments of pain.