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Poem by Anne Hunter
Song 6. IN airy dreams fond fancy flies
IN airy dreams fond fancy flies, My absent love to see, And with the early dawn I rise, Dear youth, to think of thee. How swiftly flew the rosy hours, When hope and love were new; Sweet was the time, as op'ning flowers, But, ah! 'twas transient too. The moments now move slowly on, Until thy wish'd return; I count them, pensive and alone, As in the shades I mourn. Return, return, my love, and charm Each anxious care to rest; Thy voice shall every doubt disarm, And sooth my troubled breast.
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