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Ned Farmer's Scrap Book.
'Tis Past.
"The light of other days."
'Tis past! the maddening dream is o'er,
That withering word, "Farewell," is spoken,
Whose icy touch hath reached the core
Of this fond heart—and it is broken.
Henceforth this world is one dark void,
Yet unkind memory lingers on,
Showing that with my peace destroy'd,
The sunshine of my life is gone.
The potent lightning's vivid stroke
By which the forest monarch" fell.
Was not more fatal to the oak,
Than to my heart was that Farewell!
And oh ! what torture 'tis to bear,
When every gleam of hope is gone,
With soul o'ershadowed by despair.
To feel the curse of loving on!
To-morow is the food on which procrastination lives: 'tis also the day on which idle men work and fools reform!
