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.