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. To a Friend on New Year’s Day
2. Song 13. SPRING returns, the flowrets blow
3. Addressed to Mrs. G.
4. Song 10. O Tuneful voice, I still deplore
5. November, 1784

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