ORIGINAL CHARADE.
{"newspaper_name": "The Columbian fountain.", "edition": "01", "page": "p2", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 1066, "word_count": 192, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9329000115394592], "ccnet_perplexity": [1737.800048828125], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
What is it that brings TO the captive release
To the heart-strcken mourner season of


peace,


Undimmed by sorrowing tear;
To the worlds weary pilgrim shelter and


home,
Where the poor and the lowly with pr noes


may come,


Yet we shrink from its presence with fear.
What is it that proves to the bondman op-


pressed?
A passport Of freedom--a refuge and rest,
Undashei with harrassing dream;
All what but my fast that comes down as
veil,
O'er the crimes of the guilty, the faults of the


frail, .M.l.B ...#.M#.s
That their virtues more brightly may beam?
My NEXT as jewel Oft dazzles the sight,
Where the feet Of the dancers go merry and


light


Al the turn of some delicate hand;
Yet where the broad pillows break heavy and


free,
IT'S rolled from the depths of the fathomless


sea,


And carelessly strewn on the sand.
We gaze on il often, as piled to the sky
II rears its proud summit TO heaven on high,
Defying the elements ire;
And sometimes enchained by its beautiful form
. =
We sigh THAI q bosom so seemingly warm,
Should lack the promeIhean FIRE.