{"character_count": 1112, "word_count": 209, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9427000284194946], "ccnet_perplexity": [1749.800048828125], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
T is terrible to bc alone In the wide world, homeless thing, Like last wave that makes it's moan, And rolleth to the land to fling Itself away upon tho shore, With nothing near to mourn it's death Hut, like the eagle, far to soar.

 siiiio Death his his fell tflll nest shattereth: Then to return, and see it float Away amid the torrents white, Perhaps to hear his young's last note, To see his mates last look of light Oh ! this Is wo's most wretched sight This is the last, the dying pang- The breaking of the heart which long hath

 borne the fang.

 This must bear as I have borne A hundred other woes beside; And when the last lone hope is shorn, That glimmering light. which, scarce des-

 cried,

 Hath been my beacon-star of late, Then have done with all oflife, And nought remains to me of fate, Save death to end the weary strife; Yet still the branchless tree lives on The mastless ship still wends her way, Nor mindeth wind, nor storm nor sun; So I, perhaps, may live my day, Blind, blind of heart, as best may, And some, perhaps, may mourn my death, When neither envy's fang nor hatred hinder

 eth.