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 2. FAR from this throbbing bosom haste
2. To the Memory of a Lovely Infant, Written Seven Years after His Death
3. Song 5. FAR, far from me my love is fled
4. To the Memory of Thomas Chatterton
5. Addressed to Mrs. G.

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