Tears! radiant emanations! drops of light!
That fall from those surpassing orbs as though
The starry eyes of heaven wept silver dew.
A BETROTHED LOVER'S FAREWELL.
Ay; but ere I go, perchance for ever, lady,
Unto the land, whose dismal tales of battles,
Where thousands strew'd the earth, have christen'd it
The Frenchman's grave; I'd speak of such a theme
As chimes with this sad hour, more fitly than
Its name gives promise. There's a love, which born