Weep, daughter of a royal line,
A Sire’s disgrace, a realm’s decay;
Ah! happy if each tear of thine
Could wash a father’s fault away!
Weep—for thy tears are Virtue’s tears
Auspicious to these suffering isles;
And be each drop in future years
Repaid thee by thy people’s smiles!
Otras obras de Lord Byron...
To a Lady, Who Presented to the Author a Lock of Hair Braided With His Own, and Appointed a Night in December to Meet Him in the Garden
These locks, which fondly thus ent
In firmer chains our hearts confin
Than all th’ unmeaning protestatio
Which swell with nonsense love ora
Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve