The same kind, affectionate disposition can be traced in all his other poems, together with those well-inculcated notions of God's justice, wisdom, and mercy, of toleration and forgiveness, of hatred of falsehood and contempt of prejudices, which never abandoned him throughout his life. I really pity those who could read "The Tear" without being touched by its simple, plaintive style, written in the tenderest strain, or "L'Amitie est l'Amour sans Ailes," or the lines to the Duke of Dorset on leaving Harrow, or the "Prayer of Nature," or his stanzas to Lord Clare, to Lord Delaware, to Edward Long, or his generous forgiveness of Miss Chaworth; or, again, his lines on believing that he was going to die, his answer to a poem called "The Common Lot," his reply to Dr. Beecher, and, finally, his address to a companion whose conduct obliged him to withdraw his friendship:-- "What friend for thee, howe'er inclined, Will deign to own a kindred care? Who will debase his manly mind, For friendship every fool may share? "In time forbear; amid the throng No more so base a thing be seen; No more so idly pass along; Be something, any thing but--mean." Since our object is to show in these effusions of a youthful mind, its natural beauty, and not that genius which is shortly to be developed by contact with the troubles and pains of this life, it may not be irrelevant to our subject to give in parts, if not entirely, some of the poems which he wrote at this time:-- THE TEAR. "O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater Felix! in imo qui scatentem Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit."--GRAY. When Friendship or Love our sympathies move, When truth in a glance should appear, The lips may beguile with a dimple or smile, But the test of affection's a Tear. Too oft is a smile but the hypocrite's wile, To mask detestation or fear; Give me the soft sigh, while the soul-telling eye Is dimm'd for a time with a Tear. Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below, Shows the soul from barbarity clear; Compassion will melt where this virtue is felt, And its dew is diffused in a Tear. The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale, Through billows Atlantic to steer, As he bends o'er the wave which may soon be his grave, The green sparkles bright with a Tear. The soldier braves death for a fanciful wreath In glory's romantic career; But he raises the foe when in battle laid low, And bathes every wound with a Tear. If with high-bounding pride he return to his bride, Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear, All his toils are repaid, when, embracing the maid, From her eyelid he kisses the Tear. Sweet scene of my youth! seat of Friendship and Truth,[23] Where love chased each fast-fleeting year, Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd, for a last look I turn'd, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear.