From The Rochester Duly Telegraph.
{"newspaper_name": "The Wilmingtonian, and Delaware advertiser.", "edition": "01", "page": "p3", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 1907, "word_count": 328, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9567999839782715], "ccnet_perplexity": [1894.9000244140625], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
ave call back. maid of Lutha, years that have


rolled away" OsslAH.
Yes, l remember her; saw her first
In the sweet prime Of fwomanh0od-thc rose
Ofhealth, in young and dcwy freshness, bloom.
Upon her cheek; and from her dark blue eye
The spirit of each newborn thought looked out
In undsguised expression, and dillussd
Over her face its own pure loneliness!
Oh, she was one of those for whom the earth


seemed


Even in summer rbcauty-hinty brows
Melted to smiles, and hearts unwont to feel
Softcncd to tenderness -Where'er she moved
Each eye looked gladness, and each voice
In its best tones spoke welcome; and the world
Was proud other. Yet she, SO loved, caressed,
And followed, was all mcekness-her whole
A deep pure fount of ofblessing-such she was


A change came o'er: the fell, blasting breath
of SANDER; like the siroc, passed. Ere yet
The sun had kissed away its dew, we saw
The lovelest flower morn ever smiled on droop.


Sorrow was wasting fast the springs of life.
She was alone-pale, pale, but lovely still.
Friends who had looked but to her slightest


smile


For happiness, had long forsakcn her!
1t was summers eve-the sun had sunk
Down from golden sky, whence brightly


streamed


Far over wood and field saffron light,
That rested, like lovely dream, on all
The gilded landscape: the sweet breath Of flow


ers


Came on the silent air, stealing the soul
Like angel harpings heard in Eden's bower,
Or airs of Heaven commissioned oft to soothe
The mortal anguish of the dying saint!


She looked with mild sadness on the scene
Fading like her-"And had hoped," she said,
envy evening sun would set in its full time
Like this!" Oh world, thy visitngs OF scorn
Are fearful to the young and innocent heart.
She sank beneath theIn--and the plying earth,
Whose gentle bosom never spurned child
Of sorrow, nor received lovelier guest,
Hath dccked her grave with freshest green and


flowers.