Poem by Anne Hunter

Song 2. FAR from this throbbing bosom haste

FAR from this throbbing bosom haste,
Ye doubts and fears, that lay it waste;
Dear anxious days of pleasing pain
Fly, never to return again.
But, ah! return ye smiling hours,
By careless fancy crown'd with flowers;
Come, fairy joys, and wishes gay,
And dance in sportive rounds away.
So shall the moments gaily glide
O'er varying life's tumultuous tide;
Nor sad regrets disturb their course,
To calm oblivion's peaceful source.

1. Song 15. When hollow bursts the rushing wind
2. Ode to the Conduit Vale, Blackheath
3. Sonnet after the Death of Laura
4. The Spirit’s Song
5. To a Friend on New Year’s Day

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