by Lord Byron
To a Lady weeping. 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! March, 1812.