O BID ME NOT TO WANDER. Written when earnestly entreated to go to the South of France for the recovery of her health.

O BID ME NOT TO WANDER.

Written when earnestly entreated to go to the South of France for the recovery of her health.

O urge me not to wander, And quit my pleasant native shore; O let me still meander On those sweet banks I lov'd before! The heart when fill'd with sorrow Can find no joy in change of scene, Nor can that cheat to-morrow Be aught but what to-day has been.

If pleasure e'er o'ertakes me, 'Tis when I tread the wonted round Where former joy awakes me, And strews its relics o'er the ground. There's not a shrub or flower But tells some dear lov'd tale to me, And paints some happy hour Which I, alas! no more shall see.