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. Sleep’st Thou, or Wak’st Thou
2. Simmer’s a Pleasant Time
3. It Is Na, Jean, Thy Bonnie Face
4. The Bonnie Wee Thing
5. Castle Gordon

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