ORIGINAL CHARADE.
{"newspaper_name": "The Columbian fountain.", "edition": "01", "page": "p2", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 1277, "word_count": 230, "ccnet_language_score": [0.8862000107765198], "ccnet_perplexity": [1397.5999755859375], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
There's language that speaks, though the lip


may not move,
And voices unheard ON the feelings that thrill;
There are tones whose sweet silent expressions we
love, ~ ~ II Y 2@ II
And words that felt though the tongue may


be still.


There's jewel that flashes when passion grows


strong,


AS the geni gem in magical ring,
IT'S my FIRST and that language untaughtb by the


tongue,


Those voices unbreath'd from its .rscesses srping
NV next when the ocean sleeps calm and serene,
Where the sunshine ofpeasure falls quiet and warm,
But the breath Of the tempest reverses the scene,
And burrows it oer with the gloom Of the storm.
But the pillows that roll DER the breast OF the
Z Are woke by the winds on its surface that blow,
While those Of my second may trace their commotion
To storms that raging remorseless below.
My whole, like plume from the pinions Of night,
Sweeps rayless and dark o'er glistening sphere,
II mars not its lustre, it dims not its light,
But renders them both more delicious and clear
's an arch oer fountain whose stream gushes forth
v As dew-drops'of pleasure or waters OF woe,
And the naughty and proud, as the lowly on earth,
Alike must partak Of its varying flow.
u. S. Hotel, Penn. Avenue. p. M. d.
Answer to the original charade Of yesterday