For the Union.

HIS CRADLE AND HIS GRAVE.
{"newspaper_name": "The daily union.", "edition": "01", "page": "p3", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 2254, "word_count": 407, "ccnet_language_score": [0.945900022983551], "ccnet_perplexity": [2196.60009765625], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
HIS CRADLE AMI HIS GRAVE,
"a man is born into the worldn--rejoice
A mothers heart hath leapt to hear his voice.
swathed in his infant bands, Ia cradle laid,
What gladness round that cradle is dspayd
Lift up the cover with cautious hand;
Gaze the little stranger in the landj
Kiss the soft cheek, and mark, with plying eyes,
How in his helpless innocence he lies
A touch too rude might mar sweet slumber's power
A breath OF air might shake that fragile flower.
How soft he breathes how beautiful that mouth
His breath seems fragrance from the balmy south.
He smes--is there for him land Of dreamsi
viii aught so fair be other than it seems1
That mouth shall it pronounce Of death the wordl
That tiny hand e'er grasp the murdrous swordl
Can helpless innocence, n lamb so fair,
Become the tiger, bloody in his lair7
Long years have passd and DER the ocean wave,
They laid him low, within distant grave
Count up his deeds, and tell what he hath done,
That Graded child that mothers darling son
Among his race, he won the topmost seat
And them sue at his imperial feet
Oer Egypts sands, and Europe's fertile paip,
His chargers hoois have trampled on the slain;
A gallant prince, and Of lineage high.
He ruthless seized and dragged him forth to die
He kings subdued, and mid their subjects groans,
They, trembling, satupon their tottering thrones.
Not yet conent--red with an hundred wars,
He reached to clutch the sceptre of the Cars;
fInrld from that height he fcll-but still to rise
From fiery gulf like Satan through the skies
Fast bound at Lost, in his consuming rage,
His soul burned through, from out the bods's cage.



In cradled sleep, they gazed upon that child
And in his grave washd by the ocean Wild
They gazed again upon that slterd thing
Exhumsd by prince 10 rot, should n king
What had he done 10 canoniZe his bonesl
Why-ma1e France glorious by her children's groans
Waste not your breath, ye fathers ! on the son,
When guilt thus triumphs, and such deeds are done
Must we forever prompt the ambitious soul,
To use the dagger, or to drug the how'll
An Paris met, with their bareheaded king,
To welcome back this dead polluted thing.
They peald an anthem then abured the strain
Twas right !--neer may such anthem peal again


... .. ~, NUGAT0R.