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.