SONG OF THE FORSAKEN
{"newspaper_name": "The Columbian fountain.", "edition": "01", "page": "p4", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 523, "word_count": 109, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9293000102043152], "ccnet_perplexity": [1726.199951171875], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
~ ii


BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
Yes, meet me in my dying hour,


when life is growing cold,
And the story OF thy cruel power,
Upon the heort is told.
Come, while lis strings are yet awake,
" And trembling stih for thee,
And as they quiyer, ere they break,
Thy soul shall feel for me.
Go with them when they bear me out,
And lay me down to rest,
Thsn leave me in my loneliness
The damp sods on my breast
Go back to her for whom ye gave,
The life that once was mine;
I shau not feel, in that dark grave,
This perfdy Of thine.