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 afflictionUnaided, through thy curst restriction:I’ve seen the oppressor’s cruel smileAmid 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.