WAE worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!
Fell source o a my woe and grief!
For lack o thee Ive lost my lass!
For lack o thee I scrimp my glass!
I see the children of affliction
Unaided, through thy curst restriction:
Ive seen the oppressors cruel smile
Amid his hapless victims spoil;
And for thy potence vainly wished,
To crush the villain in the dust:
For lack o thee, I leave this much-lovd shore,
Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more.R. B.
126. Lines written on a Bank-note
written byRobert Burns
© Robert Burns