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.