Far from this throbbing bosom haste,
Ye doubts, ye 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 cron’d with flow’rs;
Come, fairy joys and wishes gay,
And dance in sportive rounds away.
So shall the moments gaily glide
O’er various life’s tumultuous tide,
Nor sad regrets disturb their course
To calm oblivion’s peaceful source.