Poem by Anne Hunter

Song 10. O Tuneful voice, I still deplore

O Tuneful voice, I still deplore
Those accents which, tho' heard no more,
Still vibrate on my heart;
In echo's cave I long to dwell,
And still would hear the sad farewell,
When we were doom'd to part.
Bright eyes, O that the task were mine,
To guard the liquid fires that shine,
And round your orbits play;
To watch them with a vestal's care,
And feed with smiles a light so fair.
That it may ne'er decay.

1. Song 5. FAR, far from me my love is fled
2. The Lamentation of Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots
3. The Genius of the Mountains of Balagata
4. November, 1784
5. Song 13. Spring returns, the flowrets blow

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