*********** The Tear ***********
**********************************

By Lord Byron
October 26, 1806

1
When friendship or love,
Our sympathies move,
When truth in a glance should appear,
The lips may beguile,
With a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a tear.

2
Too oft is a smile,
But the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation, or fear,
Give me the soft sigh,
Whilst the soul telling eye,
Is dimm'd, for a time, with a tear.

3
Mild charity's glow,
To us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear,
Compassion will melt,
Where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffused in a tear.

4
The man doom'd to sail,
With the blast of the gales,
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
As he bends o'er the wave,
Which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a tear.

5
The soldier braves death,
For a fanciful wreath,
In glory's romantic career;
But he raises the foe,
When in battle laid low,
And bathes every wound with a tear.

6
When with high bounding pride,
He returns to his bride,
Renouncing the gore crimson'd spear;
All his toils are repaid,
When embracing the maid,
From her eyelid he kisses the tear.

7
Sweet scene of my youth,
Seat of friendship and truth,
Where love chac'd east fast-fleeting year,
Loth to leave thee I mourn'd,
For a last look I turned,
But thy spire was scarce seen through a tear.

8
Though my rows I can pour,
To my Mary no more,
My Mary to love once so dear,
In the shade of her bower,
I remember the hour,
She rewarded those vows with a tear.

9
By another possest,
May she live ever blest,
Her name still my heart must revere,
With a sigh I resign,
What I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a tear.

10
Ye friends of my heart,
Ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near,
If again we shall meet,
In this rural retreat,
May we meet, as we part, with a tear.

11
When my soul wings her flight,
To the regions of night,
And my body shall sleep on its bier;
As ye pass by my tomb,
Where my ashes consume,
Oh! moisten their dust with a tear.

12
May no marble bestow,
The splendour of woe,
Which the children of vanity rear,
No fiction of fame,
Shall blazon my name,
All I ask, all I wish, is a tear.