Placed on the hero’s grave. Along their face
The big round drops coursed down with silent pace,
Conglobing with the dust. Their manes, that late
Circled their arched necks, and waved in state,
Trail’d on the dust beneath the yoke were spread,
And prone to earth was hung their languid head.
Shakespeare, in “As You Like It,” tells of the tears shed by a wounded stag:
The wretched animal heav’d forth such groans,
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears