Here's a different poem with the same title as the more familiar one. It is quoted in a review of a book of poetry. The name Henry Scott appears at the top of the column, but it's not clear to me whether that's the name of the poet or the reviewer.

From The Kaleidoscope: or, Literary and Scientific Mirror, Volume 5 (Liverpool: E. Smith and Co., 1828), page 103:


A WEE DRAPPIE O'T

Now the sweetness of summer is faded and past.
Gray winter stalks lone in the roar o' the blast;
But sae happy here we'll be in our low hamely cot,
And rejoice 'neath the storm o'er a wee drappie o't.

Away thou dark demon o' sorrow and care!
Flee far wi' thy gaunt train o' howling despair,
For should you dare come here we'll plunge you in the pot,
And rejoice o'er your fa' wi a wee drappie o't.

Then we'll pledge to the land of the free and the brave,
The wild land o' heather, the rock, and the wave;
And rejoice in that freedom for which our fathers fought.
And sae "here's to their shades" wi' a wee drappie o't.

To the cheerers o' life we'll empty this bowl.
We'll pledge them wi' heart, wi' hand, and wi' soul;
For how cheerless wad the gloom be—how hard wad he our lot,
An' it werena for the dearies, and a wee drappie o't.

Few, few and short are the joys that we know.
Thro' thi dark dreary struggle of sorrow and woe;
But still some heavenly gleam illumes the lowly cot.
Oh! there's friendship, there's love, and a wee drappie o't.