{"newspaper_name": "The Columbian fountain.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 1587, "word_count": 301, "ccnet_language_score": [0.8364999890327454], "ccnet_perplexity": [1871.0999755859375], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
The following beautiful lines by the editc
of the Louisville Journal, who is now from h
home, we copy from that paper:
TO AN ABSENT WIFE.
'Tis morn-the sea breeze seems to bring
Joy, health, and freshness on its wing
Bright flowers, to me all strange and new,
Are glitering in the early dew
And perfumes rise from every grove,
AS incense TO the clouds that move
Like spirits o'er yon welkin clear
But am sad--thou art not here.
'Tis noon--a calm, unbroken sleep
Is on the blue waves of the deep
A soft haze, like fairy dream,
Is floating over wood and stream;
And many broad magnolia flower,
Within its shadowy woodland bower,
Is cleaning like lovely star
But am sad--thou art afar. m.
IT'S eve---on earth the sunset skies
Are painting their own Eden dves-
The stars come down, and trembling glow
Like blossoms in the waves below; ".
And, like some unseen sprite, the breeze
S. ems lingering mid these orange trees,
Breathing It's music round the spot
But am sad--l see thee not. ....
'Tis midnight--with soothing spell,
The far tones Of the ocean swell,
Soft as mothers cadence mild
Low bending o'er her sleeping child
And on each wandering breeze are heard
The rich no,es Of the mocking bird,
IN many wild and Wondrons lay
But am sad--lhou arl away.
! sink in dreams--'ow. sweet. and clear,
,Thy own dear voice is in my ear a.
Around nv meek ,hy tresses twine-- ,
Thy own loved hands arr clasped in mine


ny own >of l'p to mine is pressed
Thy heal is pil'owpd On my breast
Oh have all my heart hol ls dear
And ! an happy thou ar, here. =


Biz xi, Nav 81. 1886. CD. p


a > = L 4 / u.