{"newspaper_name": "The Southern journal.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 2182, "word_count": 402, "ccnet_language_score": [0.875], "ccnet_perplexity": [1679.5999755859375], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
o, it is life! departed days
Fling back their brightness while I gaze
'Tis Emma's sclf--tlis brow so fair.
Half curtained in this glossy hair,
These eyes, the very home Of love,
The dark twin arches traced above,. M
These red ripe lips that almost speak,
The fainter blush of this pure cheek,
The rose and lily's beau,eous strife
II is---ah no!--'tis all BUT life.
IT'S all BUT life--art could not save
Thy graces, Emma, from the grave;
Thy cheek is pale, thy smile is past,
Thy love-lit eyes have looked their last;
Mouldering beneath the cofin's lid,
All we adored of thee is hid;
Thy heart, where goodness loved to dwell,
Is throbless in the narrow cell:
Thy gentle voice shall charm no more;
Its last, last, Joyful note is DER.
Oft, oft, indeed, it hath been sung,


'e requiem of the fair and young;


,le theme is old, alas how old,
lf grief that will not be controlled,
Of sighs that speak fathers wo,
OF pangs that none but mothers know,
Of friendship with its bursting heart,
Doomed from the idol-one to part
Still its sad debt must feeling pay,
Till feeling, too, shall pass away.
Osay, why age, and grief, and pain,
Shall long 10 60, but long in vain;
Why vice is left TO mock at time,
And gray in years, grow gray in crime;
While youth, that every eye makes glad,
And beauty, all in radiance clad,
And goodness, cheering every heart,
Come, but come only to depart;
Sunbeams, to cheer life's wintry day,
Sunbeams, to fash, then fade away.
IT'S darkness, all! black banners wave
Round the cold borders of the grave;
There when in agony we bend


Ger the fresh sod that hides friend,
One only comfort then we know
We, too, shall qui. this world of wo;
We, too, shall find quiet place
With the dear lost ones of our race;
Our crumbling bones with theirs shall BLEND
And life's sad story find an end.


And IS this all--this mournful doom7
Beams no glad light beyond the tomb2
Mark how yon clouds in darkness ride;
They do not quench the orb they hide;
Still there it wheels--the tempest o'er,
in bright sky to burn once more;


So, far above the clouds of Time,


Faith can behold a world sublime
There, when the storms of life are past,
The light beyond shall break at last