PoETICAL FoUNT.

" Here Natures mnstrels quaff inspiring draughts.
{"newspaper_name": "The Washingtonian.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 1500, "word_count": 281, "ccnet_language_score": [0.953499972820282], "ccnet_perplexity": [1149.0], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
THE DRUNKARDs WIFE's sOLILOQUY.
Dark is the night, how dark, no light, no fire,
Cold on the earth the last faint sparks expire!
Why should he leave me thus he kind,
And believ'd 'twould last--how mad, how blind.
Rest now sweet babe rest on; tits hunger's cry;
Sleep, for there is no food; the font is dry;
Famine and cold their weary work have done;
NV heart must break-and then the clock strikes one.
flush It's the wine cup! yes, he's therehes there
For this, for this, he leaves me in despair;
love, leaves TRUTH his WIFE his childfor what?
The wanton's smile, the villain, and the sot.
Yet I'll not curse him, no It's all in vain, .
'Iis long to wait, but sure he'll come again,
And could starve and bless him, but for you,
My child-hs child-oh, iend the clock strikes two.
Can he desert me thus he knows stay
Night after night in loneliness, to pray


For his return and yet he sees no tear;
No, no, it cannot be, he will be here
Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart,
Thourt cold, thou'rt freezing, but we will part.
Husband, I die; father, it is not he


Oh, God protect my child-the clock strikes three.
They're gone, they're gone, the gm'rng spark hath


fled, .. .
The wife and child are numbered with the dead
On the cold hearth outstretched in solemn rest,
The babe lay frozen on its mether's breast.
The drunkard came at last; ah, but too late
Dread silence reigned around, he saw his fate;
He cried with maniac Madness "all is Ger
On his brow wrote lost lost the clock struck four.