Written At Inverary.

A poem by Robert Burns

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here,
I pity much his case,
Unless he's come to wait upon
The Lord their God, his Grace.

There's naething here but Highland pride
And Highland cauld and hunger;
If Providence has sent me here,
T'was surely in his anger.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Written At Inverary.' by Robert Burns

comments powered by Disqus