Did not each action speak increase of love?
’Tis done! but ah, how wretched must I be,
That lovely bosom heaves no sigh for me;
For me, that heart with no warm passion glows,
Nor my Amanda one soft word bestows:
But could she see the anguish of my heart,
And view the tumults that her charms impart;
Could she but read the sorrows of my mind,
She sure would pity, for she must be kind.
Ah! what avails, dear maid, to souls like mine,