Poem by Robert Burns

* * *

IN vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer,
Point out a cens’ring world, and bid me fear;
Above that world on wings of love I rise,
I know its worst-and can that worst despise.
‘Wrong’d, injured, shunn’d, unpitied, unredrest,
The mock’d quotation of the scorner’s jest-’
Let Prudence’ direst bodements on me fall,
Clarinda, rich reward, o’erpays them all!

1. It Is Na, Jean, Thy Bonnie Face
2. Farewell, Thou Stream
3. Sleep’st Thou, or Wak’st Thou
4. Eppie M’Nab
5. Mark Yonder Pomp

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