Poem by Amelia Opie

Song Written to a Hindoo Air

Ask not, whence springs my ceaseless sadness,
But let me still the secret keep:
Ask not, why thus in restless madness
Pass the long hours once given to sleep:

And strive not thus my looks to read:….
For 't is by certain fate decreed,
The cause that bids me rove forlorn,
If known, would only move thy scorn,
And make with anger's lightnings shine
Those now soft-smiling eyes of thine.

But know, when I no more behold thee,
And to distant scenes remove;
Should e'er a mournful tale be told thee,
Of a youth who died for love,

Who, though unknown to rank and fame,
Dared to admire a high-born dame;
But, still averse to wound her pride,
Sad silence kept, and pined, and died:….
My likeness in that victim see,
And pitying him thou'lt pity me.

1. The Orphan Boy's Tale
2. To Laura
3. Julia, or the Convent of St. Claire
4. Lines Written in 1799
5. The Mad Wanderer

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