Sympathy

Why, Julia, say, that pensive mien? I heard thy bosom sighing; How quickly on thy cheek is seen The blush, as quickly flying! Why mark I, in thy soften'd eye Once with light spirit beaming A silent tear I know not why In trem'lous luster gleaming? Come, tell me all thy bosom pain: Perhaps some faithless lover? Nay, droop not thus, the rose with rain May sink, yet still recover O Julia! My words recall My thoughts too rud'ly guide me; I see afresh thy sorrows fall They seem to plead and chide me I too, the secret would have known That makes existence languish Links to the soul on thought alone And that, a thought of anguish; Forgive, forgive, an aching heart That vainly hoped to cheer thee These tears may tell thee, while they start How all thy griefs endear thee!