The poem
WAE worth thy power, thou cursed leaf! Fell source o’ a’ my woe and grief! For lack o’ thee I’ve lost my lass! For lack o’ thee I scrimp my glass! I see the children of affliction Unaided, through thy curst restriction: I’ve seen the oppressor’s cruel smile Amid his hapless victim’s spoil; And for thy potence vainly wished, To crush the villain in the dust: For lack o’ thee, I leave this much-lov’d shore, Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more.R. B.