the tear-drop

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

lang,ng 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.