Poem by Robert Burns

Epigram Written at Inverary

WHOE’ER he be that sojourns here,
  I pity much his case,
Unless he come to wait upon
  The Lord their God, his Grace.
There’s naething here but Highland pride.
  And Highland scab and hunger;
If Providence has sent me here.
  ’Twas surely in his anger.

1. I See a Form, I See a Face
2. My Wife’s a Winsome Wee Thing
3. Mark Yonder Pomp
4. Farewell, Thou Stream
5. The Rantin’ Dog the Daddie O’t

Print

3431 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version