For the Columbian Fountain.
STANZAS.
{"newspaper_name": "The Columbian fountain.", "edition": "01", "page": "p3", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 566, "word_count": 105, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9502000212669373], "ccnet_perplexity": [1487.199951171875], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
There's not heart SO desolate,
There's no one SO sccursed by fate,
But that some heart, though now unknown,
Beats high with feeling like its own.
There's not bosom here below,


Wha'e'er may be its grief or woe,
But that some bosom for il sweiis,


And ever will while here il dwels.


There's not voice, however sweet,


It's tone may be to those you greet.


But that some voice, in accents soft,
Responds and echoes TO !, off.


Oh then let every heart be glad.
And not one single bosom sad,
Let every voice with joy proclaim,
That love is much more than name. N.