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 an anger.


Dawn Steele

About this work

This is a poem by Robert Burns. It was written in 1787 and is read here by Dawn Steele.

More about this poem

This epigram is another which Burns inscribed on a window. It was written on 24 June 1787 when he was visiting Dumbarton.

During his stay at the inn at Inveraray the landlord failed to serve Burns and other travellers because he was spending so much time tending to the needs of the Duke of Argyll and his house party.

Ralph McLean

Themes for this poem

religion poverty

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