Book contents
- Frontmatter
- Dedication
- Content
- Acknowledgements
- Chronology
- Abbreviations
- Introduction
- Anne Hunter's life
- Anne Hunter's poetry
- 16 The sources of Anne Hunter's poetry
- 17 The earliest poems, published and manuscript
- 18 Broadsheets
- 19 Nine canzonetts … and six airs
- 20 Haydn and Salomon
- 21 Poems known only in manuscript
- 22 Poems, by Mrs John Hunter
- 23 The Sports of the Genii, by Mrs John Hunter
- 24 Welsh Airs
- 25 Late published poems
- Bibliography
- Index of titles
- Index of first lines
- General index
17 - The earliest poems, published and manuscript
from Anne Hunter's poetry
- Frontmatter
- Dedication
- Content
- Acknowledgements
- Chronology
- Abbreviations
- Introduction
- Anne Hunter's life
- Anne Hunter's poetry
- 16 The sources of Anne Hunter's poetry
- 17 The earliest poems, published and manuscript
- 18 Broadsheets
- 19 Nine canzonetts … and six airs
- 20 Haydn and Salomon
- 21 Poems known only in manuscript
- 22 Poems, by Mrs John Hunter
- 23 The Sports of the Genii, by Mrs John Hunter
- 24 Welsh Airs
- 25 Late published poems
- Bibliography
- Index of titles
- Index of first lines
- General index
Summary
Adieu ye Streams, written for the Flowers of the Forest (an old Scottish air)
Adieu ye Streams that smoothly glide,
Through mazy windings o'er the plain,
I'll in some lonely cave reside,
And ever mourn my faithful swain;
Flower of the forest was my love,
Soft as the sighing summer's gale;
Gentle and constant as the dove
Blooming as roses in the vale.
Alas! by Tweed my love did stray
For me he searched the banks around;
But ah! the sad and fatal day,
My love, the pride of swains, was drown'd.
Now droops the willow o'er the stream,
Pale stalks his ghost on yonder grove,
Dire fancy paints him in my dreams,
Awake, I mourn my hopeless love
In memory of General Stanwix's daughter who was lost in her passage from Ireland
On the dark Bosom of the faithless Main
Where stormy Winds and howling Tempests reign
Far from her Native Fields and Friendly Skies
In early Death's cold arms Fidelia lies.
Ah! spare to tell (for she is now no more)
What Virtue, Beauty, Sweetness, charm'd before
Here let the Pensive Muse in Silence Mourn
Where Friendship to her name has rais'd the sacred Urn.
An eregular ode to —
The tribute of a simple Song
Such as wild Birds the Woods among
Warble on Hawthorn sprays
Let not my gentle friend disclame
Tho’ far from Honors and from Fame
Fortune obscures my Artless Lays
Nor Venel Hopes inspire
Nor Vainety can fire
My Muse to strike the trembling String
But friendship true and Love intire
First taught her both to feel and Sing
First led her fearfull steps to the Castalian Spring.
O’ may she ne'er complain
Of lost repose and broken Vows
May she ne'er sigh to find how Vain
Are hopes of Friendship as of Love
For few the Blessings Life alows
And fewer still can these improve.
But thou Lov'd Sister of my Heart
Tho’ Sea's divide and Mountain's part
Tho’ fate shou'd bear thee to a foreign Land
Still constant be thy sacred truth
Till Life shall reach its latest Sand
Tho’ gay desires, and Chearful Youth
Fly far away
Let Friendship last as long as this frail gesture of decay
Still in this faithfull Breast
Thy Image reigns confest
Still shall it fill this constant heart
Nor e're the dear Idea part
Till all its throbings are at rest.
- Type
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- Information
- The Life and Poems of Anne HunterHaydn’s Tuneful Voice, pp. 90 - 101Publisher: Liverpool University PressPrint publication year: 2009