{"character_count": 990, "word_count": 187, "ccnet_language_score": [0.913100004196167], "ccnet_perplexity": [1186.4000244140625], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
popes bloom and distIl their suporfc
dews on my closed eyeids, reveI in
the courts of the blsest--like poet, |
seem to be suspended, in an ideal balloon,
midway between an Eden below and
Paradise above, until the morning lands
me on the barren cliffs Of terra frna---
Since the beloved partner ofmy bosom has
depared, her side of the bed contains a
bundle of nettles bound together by a
wreath ofcypress--but for all that sleep,
as sound as a log because my accounts
are all square. am TOO old my friends
to do utices 10 the last verse Of my text
suffice it TO say, it is beautiful, truthful,
sublime and pathetic. And now, in con.
clusion, let me tell you, that our nights
repose depends upon our conduct through
the day, so does the sleep Of death upon
our actions through life. If we 90 ac-
cording TO HoyIe through the day OeX-
istence, we shall be best with rapturous
dreams when we fall asleep in the cradle
of the grave, never more TO wake TO trou'
bic, care and sorrow. So mote i be