DanFosing/public-domain-poetry huggingface dataset:
Vulture, Sparrow, And Birds.
by John Gay

Ere I begin I must premise
Our ministers are good and wise:
Therefore if tongues malicious fly,
Or what care they, or what care I?
If I am free with courts, and skittish,
I ne'er presume to mean the British:
I meddle with no state affairs,
But spare my jest and save my ears;
And our court schemes are too profound
For Machiavel himself to sound.
A captious fool may feel offended;
They are by me uncomprehended.
Your younger brother wants a place - 
(That's many a younger brother's case).
You likewise tell me he intends
To try the court and beat up friends.
I trust he may a patriot find,
True to his king and to mankind,
And true to merit - to your brother's - 
And then he need not teaze us others.
You praise his probity and wit:
No doubt; I doubt them not a whit.
Ah! may our patriot have them too;
And if both clash, why things may do.
For I have heard (oh, Heaven defend us!
For I'll not hold it might not mend us)
That ministers, high as yon steeple,
Have trodden low law, king, and people,
When virtue from preferment barred
Gets nothing save its own regard.
Courtiers - a set of knaves - attend them,
And arrogance well recommends them;
Who flatter them defame their foes
To lull the ministerial woes:
And if projectors fire a brain,
South Sea or silver mines in Spain,
The broker's ready in a trice
To satisfy e'en avarice.
A courtier's conscience must be pliant;
He must go on, nor be defiant,
Through thick and thin, o'er stock and stone,
Or else, bye, bye, the post is gone.
Since plagues like these as storms may lower,
And favourites fall as falls the flower,
Good principles should not be steady, - 
That is, at court, but ever ready
To veer - as veers the vane - each hour
Around the ministry in power:
For they, you know, they must have tools;
And if they can't get knaves, get fools.
Ah! let me shun the public hate,
And flee the guilt of guilty state.
Give me, kind Heaven, a private station,
A mind serene for contemplation;
And if bright honour may be mine,
Profit and title I resign.
Now read my fable, and - in short,
Go, if you will, then - go to court.
In days of yore (for cautious rhymes
Should aye eschew the present times)
A greedy vulture, skilled in preying,
Approached the throne, his wings displaying,
And at the royal eagle's ear
Burthens of state proposed to bear.
Behold him minister of state;
Behold his feathered throng await;
Behold them granting posts and places
Concordant with their worth and races.
The nightingales were all turned out,
And daws put in. "These birds, no doubt,"
The vulture said, "are the most fit
Both for capacity and wit,
And very docile: they will do
My business, as I wish them to.
And hawk - the hawk is a good fellow - 
And chanticleer, with cockscomb yellow;
But all the ravens - they must go - 
Pry in futurities, you know.
That will not do; to baffle all
With truth, for the apocryphal.
No; jays and pies will do far better, - 
They talk by rote, nor know a letter."
A sparrow, on the housetop, heard - 
The sparrow is a knowing bird:
"If rogues unto preferments rise,
I ask nor place nor seignories.
To the thatched cottage, I, to find,
From courts afar, my peace of mind."
Lines On Woodstock.
by James McIntyre

English Woodstock had a palace
Where the Queen in jealous malice
Slew romance's fairest flower,
Fair Rosamond in secret bower;
Our Woodstock pleasing county town,
This brings it both wealth and renown,
To your strong castle some are sent
To give them leisure to repent.
A charming vista you do view
Gazing on each street and avenue,
Mansions and lawn embowered 'mong trees
Where wealthy owners live at ease,
And through the air there sweetly floats
Harmonious Woodstock organ notes,
And men employment secure
In factory for furniture;
Old Oxford is a seat of knowledge,
Woodstock has a fine new college,
And farm implement work shops,
So farmers easy reap their crops;
The old court house is a disgrace,
Grand structure soon will take its place.
The Temple
by Virna Sheard

Enter the temple beautiful! The house not made with hands!
Rain-washed and green, wind-swept and clean,
Beneath the blue it stands,
And no cathedral anywhere
Seemeth so holy or so fair.
It hath no heavy gabled roof, no door with lock and key,
No window-bars shut out the stars,
The aisles are wide and free - 
Here through the night each altar-light
Is but a moon-beam, silver-white.
Silently as the temple grew at Solomon's command,
Still as things seem within a dream
This rose from out the land:
And all the pillars, grey and high,
Lifted their arches to the sky.
Here is the perfume of the leaves, the incense of the pines - 
The magic scent that hath been pent
Within the tangled vines:
No censor filled with spices rare
E'er swung such sweetness on the air.
And all the golden gloom of it holdeth no haunting fear,
For it is blessed, and giveth rest
To those who enter here - 
Here in the evening - who can know
But God Himself walks to and fro!
And music past all mastering within the chancel rings;
None could desire a sweeter choir
Than this - that soars and sings,
Till far the scented shadows creep - 
And quiet darkness bringeth sleep.
Hymn of Praise
by Henry Kendall

Encompassed by the psalm of hill and stream,
By hymns august with their majestic theme,
Here in the evening of exalted days
To Thee, our Friend, we bow with breath of praise.
The great, sublime hosannas of the sea
Ascend on wings of mighty winds to Thee,
And mingled with their stately words are tones
Of human love, O Lord of all the zones!
Ah! at the close of many splendid hours,
While falls Thy gracious light in radiant showers,
We seek Thy face, we praise Thee, bless Thee, sing
This song of reverence, Master, Maker, King!
To Thee, from whom all shining blessings flow,
All gifts of lustre, all the joys we know,
To Thee, O Father, in this lordly space,
The great world turns with worship in its face.
For that glad season which will pass to-day
With light and music like a psalm away,
The gathered nations with a grand accord,
In sight of Thy high heaven, thank Thee, Lord!
All praise is Thine all love that we can give
Is also Thine, in whose large grace we live,
In whom we find the One long-suffering Friend,
Whose immemorial mercy has no end.
Translation From Catullus. - Ad Lesbiam.
by George Gordon Byron

Equal to Jove that youth must be - 
Greater than Jove he seems to me - 
Who, free from Jealousy's alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms;
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from whence such music flows,
To him, alike, are always known,
Reserv'd for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia! though 'tis death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly,
I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres,
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support;
Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And Life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veil'd in starless night:
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.
Lines To The Memory Of Erasmus, By Oudaan, Inscribed On The Pedestal Of The Statue Raised In Honour Of The Former, In Rotterdam.
by John Carr (Sir)

[The Original in Dutch.]
ORIGINAL.
Hier rees die groote zon, en ging te Bazel onder!
De Rykstad eer' en vier' dien Heilig in zyn grav;
Dit tweede leeven geevt, die't eerste leeven gav:
Maar 't ligt der taalen, 't zout der zeden, 't heerlyk wonder.
Waar met de Lievde, en Vreede, en Godgeleerdheid praald,
Word met geen grav g'erd nog met zeen beeld betaald:
Dies moet hier't lugtgewele Erasmus overdekken,
Nadien geen mind're plaats zyn tempel kan verstrekken!
TRANSLATION.
Erasmus, here, the eloquent and wise,
That Sun of Learning! rose, and spread his beam
O'er a benighted world, thro' low'ring skies,
And shed on Basil's tow'rs his parting gleam.
There his great relics lie: he bless'd the place:
No proud preserver of his fame shall prove
The Parian pile, tho' fraught with sculptur'd grace:
Reader! his mausoleum is above.
To The Same (John Dyer)
by William Wordsworth

Enough of climbing toil! Ambition treads
Here, as 'mid busier scenes, ground steep and rough,
Or slippery even to peril! and each step,
As we for most uncertain recompence
Mount toward the empire of the fickle clouds,
Each weary step, dwarfing the world below,
Induces, for its old familiar sights,
Unacceptable feelings of contempt,
With wonder mixed that Man could e'er be tied,
In anxious bondage, to such nice array
And formal fellowship of petty things!
Oh! 'tis the 'heart' that magnifies this life,
Making a truth and beauty of her own;
And moss-grown alleys, circumscribing shades,
And gurgling rills, assist her in the work
More efficaciously than realms outspread,
As in a map, before the adventurer's gaze
Ocean and Earth contending for regard.
The umbrageous woods are left how far beneath!
But lo! where darkness seems to guard the mouth
Of yon wild cave, whose jagged brows are fringed
With flaccid threads of ivy, in the still
And sultry air, depending motionless.
Yet cool the space within, and not uncheered
(As whoso enters shall ere long perceive)
By stealthy influx of the timid day
Mingling with night, such twilight to compose
As Numa loved; when, in the Egerian grot,
From the sage Nymph appearing at his wish,
He gained whate'er a regal mind might ask,
Or need, of counsel breathed through lips divine.
Long as the heat shall rage, let that dim cave
Protect us, there deciphering as we may
Diluvian records; or the sighs of Earth
Interpreting; or counting for old Time
His minutes, by reiterated drops,
Audible tears, from some invisible source
That deepens upon fancy more and more
Drawn toward the centre whence those sighs creep forth
To awe the lightness of humanity:
Or, shutting up thyself within thyself,
There let me see thee sink into a mood
Of gentler thought, protracted till thine eye
Be calm as water when the winds are gone,
And no one can tell whither. Dearest Friend!
We two have known such happy hours together
That, were power granted to replace them (fetched
From out the pensive shadows where they lie)
In the first warmth of their original sunshine,
Loth should I be to use it: passing sweet
Are the domains of tender memory!
The Elephant; Or, The Parliament Man
by Jonathan Swift

WRITTEN MANY YEARS SINCE; AND TAKEN FROM COKE'S FOURTH INSTITUTE THE HIGH COURT OF PARLIAMENT, CAP. I
Sir E. Coke says: "Every member of the house being a counsellor should have three properties of the elephant; first that he hath no gall; secondly, that he is inflexible and cannot bow; thirdly, that he is of a most ripe and perfect memory ... first, to be without gall, that is, without malice, rancor, heat, and envy: ... secondly, that he be constant, inflexible, and not be bowed, or turned from the right either for fear, reward, or favour, nor in judgement respect any person: ... thirdly, of a ripe memory, that they remembering perils past, might prevent dangers to come."
Ere bribes convince you whom to choose,
The precepts of Lord Coke peruse.
Observe an elephant, says he,
And let him like your member be:
First take a man that's free from Gaul,
For elephants have none at all;
In flocks or parties he must keep;
For elephants live just like sheep.
Stubborn in honour he must be;
For elephants ne'er bend the knee.
Last, let his memory be sound,
In which your elephant's profound;
That old examples from the wise
May prompt him in his noes and ayes.
Thus the Lord Coke hath gravely writ,
In all the form of lawyer's wit:
And then, with Latin and all that,
Shows the comparison is pat.
Yet in some points my lord is wrong,
One's teeth are sold, and t'other's tongue:
Now, men of parliament, God knows,
Are more like elephants of shows;
Whose docile memory and sense
Are turn'd to trick, to gather pence;
To get their master half-a-crown,
They spread the flag, or lay it down:
Those who bore bulwarks on their backs,
And guarded nations from attacks,
Now practise every pliant gesture,
Opening their trunk for every tester.
Siam, for elephants so famed,
Is not with England to be named:
Their elephants by men are sold;
Ours sell themselves, and take the gold.
Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part II. - XI - Transubstantiation
by William Wordsworth

Enough! for see, with dim association
The tapers burn; the odorous incense feeds
A greedy flame; the pompous mass proceeds;
The Priest bestows the appointed consecration;
And, while the Host is raised, its elevation
An awe and supernatural horror breeds;
And all the people bow their heads, like reeds
To a soft breeze, in lowly adoration.
This Valdo brooks not. On the banks of Rhone
He taught, till persecution chased him thence,
To adore the Invisible, and Him alone.
Nor are his Followers loth to seek defense,
'Mid woods and wilds, on Nature's craggy throne,
From rites that trample upon soul and sense.
Horoscope
by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Ere he was born, the stars of fate
Plotted to make him rich and great:
When from the womb the babe was loosed,
The gate of gifts behind him closed.
Curfew Shall Not Ring To-Night
by William F. Kirk

England's sun ban slowly setting on big hilltops far avay;
Dis bar sun ban tired of standing, so it lak to set, yu say;
And yust ven dis sun ban setting, it shine hard on Yosephine;
She ban talking to the sexton, and ban feeling purty mean.
"Now," she tal him, "yust be careful,... ay skol fix it op all right;
Yust one teng ay lak to tal yu, Curfew skol not reng to-night!"
Val, the sun yust keep on setting, and the sexton start for bell.
"Vait a minute!" Yosie tal him; sexton answer, "Vat to 'ell?"
"Val," she say, "ay having sveetheart who ban over har in yail,
Ay ban vorking hard for money, nuff so ay can pay his bail;
But it ant no use to du it, and dis har old yudge skol write
That he dies ven bell start going. Curfew skol not reng to-night!"
Den, yu say, dis maester sexton, he can't hearing Yosephine;
He ban vork in boiler factory ven he ban about saxteen,
And it mak him deaf lak blazes. So he go and grabbing rope;
But Miss Yosephine ant qvitter, she ant losing any hope.
No, sir! she run op in bell tower, yust so fast sum she can run,
And she tak gude hold on bell tongue, and hang on lak son of a gun.
Maester sexton, he keep renging, but dis bell ant reng, yu say;
For Miss Yosephine ban op dar; she ant ban no country yay.
Ay yust bet yu she get groggy, for her yob ban purty tough;
But the bell don't "dingle dangle," it ant even making bluff.
"Val, by yinger!" say the sexton, "dis har rope ban awful tight."
Yosephine look down, and tal him, "Curfew skol not reng to-night!"
Purty soon it ban all over. Sexton, he ban start for town,
And Miss Yosie rest a minute, den ay s'pose she coming down.
Anyhow, she go next morning for gude talk vith some poleece,
And she yolly Maester Cromwell - he ban Yustice of the Peace.
"Gude for yu," say Maester Cromwell, "ay skol let him live, all right:
Yust because yu fule dis sexton - curfew skol not reng to-night!"
The Anvil
by Rudyard Kipling

Norman Conquest, 1066
England's on the anvil, hear the hammers ring,
Clanging from the Severn to the Tyne!
Never was a blacksmith like our Norman King,
England's being hammered, hammered, hammered into line!
England's on the anvil! Heavy are the blows!
(But the work will be a marvel when it's done.)
Little bits of Kingdoms cannot stand against their foes.
England's being hammered, hammered, hammered into one!
There shall be one people, it shall serve one Lord,
(Neither Priest nor Baron shall escape!)
It shall have one speech and law, soul and strength and sword.
England's being hammered, hammered, hammered into shape!
The Quarrel Of The Dogs And Cats, And That Of The Cats And Mice.
by Jean de La Fontaine

Enthroned by an eternal law,
Hath Discord reign'd throughout the universe.
In proof, I might from this our planet draw
A thousand instances diverse.
Within the circle of our view,
This queen hath subjects not a few.
Beginning with the elements,
It is astonishing to see
How they have stood, to all intents,
As wrestlers from eternity.
Besides these four great potentates,
Old stubborn earth, fire, flood, and air,
How many other smaller states
Are waging everlasting war!
In mansion deck'd with frieze and column,
Dwelt dogs and cats in multitudes;
Decrees, promulged in manner solemn,
Had pacified their ancient feuds.
Their lord had so arranged their meals and labours,
And threaten'd quarrels with the whip,
That, living in sweet cousinship,
They edified their wondering neighbours.
At last, some dainty plate to lick,
Or profitable bone to pick,
Bestow'd by some partiality,
Broke up the smooth equality.
The side neglected were indignant
At such a slight malignant.
Some writers make the whole dispute begin
With favours to a bitch while lying in.
Whate'er the cause, the altercation
Soon grew a perfect conflagration.
In hall and kitchen, dog and cat
Took sides with zeal for this or that.
New rules upon the cat side falling
Produced tremendous caterwauling.
Their advocate, against such rules as these,
Advised recurrence to the old decrees.
They search'd in vain, for, hidden in a nook,
The thievish mice had eaten up the book.
Another quarrel, in a trice,
Made many sufferers with the mice;
For many a veteran whisker'd-face,
With craft and cunning richly stored,
And grudges old against the race,
Now watch'd to put them to the sword;
Nor mourn'd for this that mansion's lord.
Resuming our discourse, we see
No creature from opponents free.
'Tis nature's law for earth and sky;
'Twere vain to ask the reason why;
God's works are good, - I cannot doubt it, - 
And that is all I know about it.
I know, however, that the cause
Which hath our human quarrels brought,
Three quarters of the time, is nought
That will be, is, or ever was.
Ye veterans, in state and church,
At threescore years, indeed,
It seems there still is need
To give you lessons with the birch!
Envy And Avarice.
by Victor-Marie Hugo

("L'Avarice et l'Envie.")
[LE CONSERVATEUR LIIT'RAIRE, 1820.]
Envy and Avarice, one summer day,
Sauntering abroad
In quest of the abode
Of some poor wretch or fool who lived that way - 
You - or myself, perhaps - I cannot say - 
Along the road, scarce heeding where it tended,
Their way in sullen, sulky silence wended;
For, though twin sisters, these two charming creatures,
Rivals in hideousness of form and features,
Wasted no love between them as they went.
Pale Avarice,
With gloating eyes,
And back and shoulders almost double bent,
Was hugging close that fatal box
For which she's ever on the watch
Some glance to catch
Suspiciously directed to its locks;
And Envy, too, no doubt with silent winking
At her green, greedy orbs, no single minute
Withdrawn from it, was hard a-thinking
Of all the shining dollars in it.
The only words that Avarice could utter,
Her constant doom, in a low, frightened mutter,
"There's not enough, enough, yet in my store!"
While Envy, as she scanned the glittering sight,
Groaned as she gnashed her yellow teeth with spite,
"She's more than me, more, still forever more!"
Thus, each in her own fashion, as they wandered,
Upon the coffer's precious contents pondered,
When suddenly, to their surprise,
The God Desire stood before their eyes.
Desire, that courteous deity who grants
All wishes, prayers, and wants;
Said he to the two sisters: "Beauteous ladies,
As I'm a gentleman, my task and trade is
To be the slave of your behest - 
Choose therefore at your own sweet will and pleasure,
Honors or treasure!
Or in one word, whatever you'd like best.
But, let us understand each other - she
Who speaks the first, her prayer shall certainly
Receive - the other, the same boon redoubled!"
Imagine how our amiable pair,
At this proposal, all so frank and fair,
Were mutually troubled!
Misers and enviers, of our human race,
Say, what would you have done in such a case?
Each of the sisters murmured, sad and low
"What boots it, oh, Desire, to me to have
Crowns, treasures, all the goods that heart can crave,
Or power divine bestow,
Since still another must have always more?"
So each, lest she should speak before
The other, hesitating slow and long
Till the god lost all patience, held her tongue.
He was enraged, in such a way,
To be kept waiting there all day,
With two such beauties in the public road;
Scarce able to be civil even,
He wished them both - well, not in heaven.
Envy at last the silence broke,
And smiling, with malignant sneer,
Upon her sister dear,
Who stood in expectation by,
Ever implacable and cruel, spoke
"I would be blinded of one eye!"
American Keepsake
Suggested At Tyndrum In A Storm
by William Wordsworth

Enough of garlands, of the Arcadian crook,
And all that Greece and Italy have sung
Of Swains reposing myrtle groves among!
'Ours' couch on naked rocks, will cross a brook
Swoln with chill rains, nor ever cast a look
This way or that, or give it even a thought
More than by smoothest pathway may be brought
Into a vacant mind. Can written book
Teach what 'they' learn? Up, hardy Mountaineer!
And guide the Bard, ambitious to be One
Of Nature's privy council, as thou art,
On cloud-sequestered heights, that see and hear
To what dread Powers He delegates his part
On earth, who works in the heaven of heavens, alone.
England's Hope And England's Heir.
by Charles Sangster

England's Hope and England's Heir!
Head and crown of Britain's glory,
Be thy future half so fair
As her past is famed in story,
Then wilt thou be great, indeed,
Daring, where there's cause to dare;
Greatest in the hour of need,
England's Hope and England's Heir.
By her past, in acts supreme,
By her present grand endeavour,
By her future, which the gleam
Of our fond hopes brings us ever:
We can trust that thou wilt be
Worthy of a fame so rare,
Worthy of thy destiny,
England's Hope and England's Heir.
Be thy spirit fraught with hers,
Queen, whom we revere and honour;
Be thine acts love's messengers,
Brightly flashing back upon her;
Be what most her trust would deem,
Help the answer to her prayer,
Realize her holiest dream,
England's Hope and England's Heir.
Welcome, Prince! the land is wide,
Wider still the love we cherish;
Love that thou shalt find, when tried,
Is not born to droop and perish;
Welcome to our heart of hearts;
You will find no falsehood there,
But the zeal that truth imparts,
England's Hope and England's Heir.
Welcome to our woodland deeps,
To our inland lakes, and rivers,
Where the rapid roars and sweeps,
Where the brightest sunlight quivers.
Loyal souls can never fail;
Serfdom crouches in its lair;
But our British hearts are hale,
England's Hope and England's Heir.
The New York Skyscraper
by Madison Julius Cawein

The Woolworth Building
Enormously it lifts
Its tower against the splendor of the west;
Like some wild dream that drifts
Before the mind, and at the will's behest,
Enchantment-based, gigantic steel and stone,
Is given permanence;
A concrete fact,
Complete, alone,
Glorious, immense,
Such as no nation here on Earth has known:
Epitomizing all
That is American, that stands for youth,
And strength and truth;
That's individual,
And beautiful and free,
Resistless srength and tireless energy.
Even as a cataract,
Its superb fact
Suggests vast forces Nature builds with Joy,
And Power and Thought,
She to her aid has brought
For eons past, will bring for eons yet to be,
Shaping the world to her desire: the three
Her counsellors constantly,
Her architects, through whom her dreams come true,
Her workmen, bringing forth,
With toil that shall not cease,
Mountains and plains and seas,
That make the Earth
The glory that it is:
And, one with these,
Such works of man as this,
This building, towering into the blue,
A beacon, round which like an ocean wide,
Circles and flows the restless human tide.
Fortune And Wisdom.
by Friedrich Schiller

Enraged against a quondam friend,
To Wisdom once proud Fortune said
"I'll give thee treasures without end,
If thou wilt be my friend instead."
"My choicest gifts to him I gave,
And ever blest him with my smile;
And yet he ceases not to crave,
And calls me niggard all the while."
"Come, sister, let us friendship vow!
So take the money, nothing loth;
Why always labor at the plough?
Here is enough I'm sure for both!"
Sage wisdom laughed, the prudent elf!
And wiped her brow, with moisture hot:
"There runs thy friend to hang himself,
Be reconciled I need thee not!"