The poem
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 bruisèd 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.