Wae Worth Thy Power, Thou Cursed Leaf, Fell Source O' A' My Woe An' 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 Cursed 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.