Wae worththy power, thou cursed leaf!
Fellsource 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, throughthy 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 greetold Scotland more.

R.B.