SONG.

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.