1822. W. Hall, Chief of St. Athans, etc. I. 3.
| The lady sits and weeps— | |
| Like diamond in its earthy shroud, | |
| Or star of eve veil’d with a cloud, | |
| Or violet ’neath the fern leaf bow’d— | |
| The glistening tearlet creeps. |
1854. Stanzas for the Sentimental, iii. in Punch, XXVI. 19/2.
| Yet ’twas no anguish of the soul, | |
| No memory of woes, | |
| Bade that one lonely tearlet roll | |
| Adown my chiselled nose. |
1858. P. J. Bailey, The Age, 201.
| By the plume mailed barbarians, gold who held | |
| The sun’s bright tearlets. |
