THE TEAR-DROP.

THE TEAR-DROP.

TO HER, WHOM I LOVE.

I LOVE thee, dear girl, for those eyes, that speak pleasure, Those sweet little ringlets, that artfully curl;

For lips, where I oft have drunk joy, without measure, And cheeks, blushing roses, I love thee, my girl.

But, ah! when the sad tale of pity does move thee,
I love thee, indeed, for that deep bosom-sigh ;
Yet most, for that sure pledge of nature, I love thee,

The tear-drop, that stands, in thy soft melting eye!

And, still, while I gaze, at its tremulous motion,

Or, down thy warm cheek, see it, stealing its way, 'Tis dearer to me, than the pearl of the ocean, is its ray.

And clearer, than India's gem,

Give the tear to my lips, then! and love, thus requited,
No longer shall mourn, for the loss of the sigh;
For that was for Heaven, and seraphs, delighted,
Have born the dear tribute, in triumph, on high.

'Twere joy, though the last of my days were tomorrow,
To think you would come, to lament for my doom;
O'er my tablet, to shed such a tear-drop of sorrow;
To heave such a sigh, as you turn'd, from my tomb.

But, shortly, my love, shall our destinies sever,
And ne'er shalt thou weep, o'er my tablet, for me,
For, when I am cold, I shall rest me, forever,
Beyond the wild water, far distant, from thee.