Song II

By Charlotte Smith

DOES Pity give, though Fate denies,

And to my wounds her balm impart?

O speak--with those expressive eyes!

Let one low sigh escape thine heart.

The gazing crowd shall never guess

What anxious, watchful Love can see;

Nor know what those soft looks express,

Nor dream that sign is meant for me.

Ah! words are useless, words are vain,

Thy generous sympathy to prove;

And well that sign, those looks explain,

That Clara mourns my hapless love.