MY LIFE.
{"newspaper_name": "The Columbian fountain.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 853, "word_count": 167, "ccnet_language_score": [0.8654000163078308], "ccnet_perplexity": [1917.300048828125], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
MY LIFE.
My life is like the summer rose,
That opens to the morning sky;
But ere the shades of evening close,
Is scattered on the ground to die.
But on that roses humble bed,
The sweetest dews Of night are shed,
AS if heaven wept such waste to see,
But none shall weep tear for me-
My life is like tn autumnal leaf,
That trembles in the moons pale ray,
Its hold is frail---its date is brief
Restless, and soon to pass away.
Yet ere that leaf shall fall or fade,
The parent tree shall mourn its shade,
The winds bewail the leafless tree,
But none shall breathe sigh for me!
My life is like the print that feet
Have left on Zara's desert strand;
Soon as the rising tide shall beat,
The track shall vanish from the sand.
Yet as if grieving to efface


All vestige Of the human race,
On that lone shore loud morns the sea,
But none shall c'er lament for me-