Page:A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (1st ed.).djvu/18



him! oh, how little they
 * Who counsel thus can know the feeling

Which graved his image on this heart,
 * And through its inmost core is stealing.

Forget him! they have never felt
 * The wild and throbbing pulse which tells

Where Love hath o'ertumed reason's throne,
 * And monarch of the bosom dwells.

Forget him! yes, should madness pluck
 * Fond memory from this tortured brain,

Perchance, in mental darkness lost,
 * The vision ne'er may come again.

But while, as now, each varied sense
 * True to its idol, worships on,

This faithful heart shall be its shrine
 * When every other feeling's gone!