the tear-drop

    wae is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e;

    lang, lang has joy been a stranger to me:

    forsaken and friendless, my burden i bear,

    and the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear.

    love thou hast pleasures, and deep hae i luv'd;

    love, thou hast sorrows, and sair hae i pruv'd;

    but this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast,

    i can feel, by its throbbings, will soon be at rest.

    oh, if i were—where happy i hae been—

    down by yon stream, and yon bonie castle-green;

    for there he is wand'ring and musing on me,

    wha wad soon dry the tear-drop that clings to my e'e.