BY H. ELLISON.
{"newspaper_name": "The Columbian fountain.", "edition": "01", "page": "p2", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 1372, "word_count": 237, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9369000196456909], "ccnet_perplexity": [1582.0], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
Would every man but Of his duty do


A tithe, this earth were as paradise!


Then would The victory be for the wise,
The good and virtuous, and not unto
The sword and spear, the brute strong, who


undo


Their fellow men, and rend. in twain the


ties sas 8a Eu.


Which bound all hearts to holy ministries
Those ministries which, like pure ore, run
. through


!, The common bosom in this weekday life,


But we do lend ourselves to british strife,
Blind tools in blind hand we violate


Truth, Justice, Mercy, and ourselves de-


prive
\ OF their high MISUNDERSTANDING, but too late,
That on all sin selfpunishment must wait.
&' ---~~~~~~--~---~~s--


Just before the paternal mansion Of cele-
brated Boston lady was torn down, an old
bachelor who visited the house wrote the fol-
lowing lines:


Here first the light broke on her infant view,
Th' enamored light wherein her beauty grew;
Here first mothers glowing eyes confessed
The Joy with which all other eyes she blessed;
These conscious walls with the first accents
3hi rung


That flowed in silver from her honey tongue.
The air that taught thy bosom TO respire,
Seems burning still with loves all quenchless
gl fire. tsga
These walls, which Oft her maiden footsteps


trod, a
Are haunted still by the annoying god;
Their echoes, that her laughing voice alarmed,
Are lingering yet, so sweetly were they charm
ed"