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.