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.