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With wasting sickness thy young form must languish,
All my fond care appears, alas, in vain;
None but a mother e'er can guess my anguish
To see thee suffer, and not ease thy pain.
Oh lovely health! return, with aspect mild,
And bless again my gentle suff'ring child.
All my fond care appears, alas, in vain;
None but a mother e'er can guess my anguish
To see thee suffer, and not ease thy pain.
Oh lovely health! return, with aspect mild,
And bless again my gentle suff'ring child.
TO ———
Oh! give me back the peace of mind
Of which thou'st robb'd my breast;
And tell me where I now can find
The envied balm of rest.
Of which thou'st robb'd my breast;
And tell me where I now can find
The envied balm of rest.
I've sought it in the lonely glade,
And in the green-wood bow'r;
And in the green-wood bow'r;
