OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Sullivan v. Finkelstein/Concurrence Scalia

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
* Concurring Opinions Scalia Blackmun
Justice SCALIA, concurring in part.
I join the opinion of the Court, except for footnote 8, which responds on the merits to "two arguments based on subsequent legislative history." Ante, at 628, n. 8.
The legislative history of a statute is the history of its consideration and enactment. "Subsequent legislative history" which presumably means the post-enactment history of a statute's consideration and enactment-is a contradiction in terms. The phrase is used to smuggle into judicial consideration legislators' expressions not of what a bill currently under consideration means (which, the theory goes, reflects what their colleagues understood they were voting for), but of what a law previously enacted means.
It seems to be a rule for the use of subsequent legislative history that the legislators or committees of legislators whose post-enactment views are consulted must belong to the institution that passed the statute. Never, for example, have I seen floor statements of Canadian MP's cited concerning the meaning of a United States statute; only statements by Members of Congress qualify. No more connection than that, however, is required. It is assuredly not the rule that the legislators or committee members in question must have considered, or at least voted upon, the particular statute in question-or even that they have been members of the particular Congress that enacted it. The subsequent legislative history rejected as inconclusive in today's footnote, for example, tells us (according to the Court's analysis) what committees of the 99th and 95th Congresses thought the 76th Congress intended.
In my opinion, the views of a legislator concerning a statute already enacted are entitled to no more weight than the views of a judge concerning a statute not yet passed. In some situations, of course, the expression of a legislator relating to a previously enacted statute may bear upon the meaning of a provision in a bill under consideration-which provision, if passed, may in turn affect judicial interpretation of the previously enacted statute, since statutes in pari materia should be interpreted harmoniously. Such an expression would be useful, if at all, not because it was subsequent legislative history of the earlier statute, but because it was plain old legislative history of the later one.
Arguments based on subsequent legislative history, like arguments based on antecedent futurity, should not be taken seriously, not even in a footnote.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Sullivan v. City of Shreveport

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
251 U.S. 169
Sullivan v. City of Shreveport
Argued: Nov. 17, 1919. --- Decided: Dec 15, 1919
Mr. E. H. Randolph, of Shreveport, La., for plaintiff in error.
Mr. J. E. Smitherman, of Shreveport, La., for defendant in error.
Mr. Justice CLARKE delivered the opinion of the Court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# St. Nicholas/Volume 32/Number 4/Two Sides of Ye Hedge

* Two Sides of Ye Hedge;
* or, Ye Sorry Aim of Ye Medieval Archer.
* (A Valentine Tragedy.)
* By Frederick Richardson
Ye faire mayde:  “‘Tis Percival, my archer love, I wot!” :
| “’T was aimed with care, and my love-shaft, I trow,  Straight to her hand—and to her heart—will go.” | “A valentine his trusty bow hath shot!” |
| “Gadzooks!” cries Percival. ‘Alack! what ’s up?  I ’ve missed ye fair one, and have hit ye pup” | “A valentine his trusty bow hath shot!” |
| “A murrain on my hand and brain so stupid!  I ‘ll ne’er again attempt to rival Cupid!” | Ye ancient dame:   “Young lady, to thy turret chamber speed,   Whilst I this varlet’s ‘doggerel’ will read!” |
# St. Nicholas/Volume 32/Number 4/Nature and Science/Mollusk

The King of Mollusks.
The king of mollusks lives in the Indian and South Pacific oceans. He attains to a weight of five hundred pounds, and the shell is of the bivalve kind, and the shape is about the same as that of our common fresh-water mussel. The gigantic Tridacna is the largest mollusk known to have lived on the earth since the Silurian Age. It is found on the bottom of the shallow parts of the ocean, and the large individuals have no longer the power to move about. They lie on one side, and all about them the corals build up until King Tridacna is sometimes found in a well-like hole in the coral formation. From the known rate of coral growth, the age of the mollusk can be approximately determined. Some are certainly more than one hundred years old, This king has a small domain, but in it he is in undoubted control. Pearl-divers have lost their lives by unknowingly stepping into the shell of a tridacna.
The huge shell Tridacna. (Photographed by the side of a girl to show comparative size.)
Suppose the diver to be walking on the bottom of the sea, stumbling along in the dim light, and, in climbing over a mass of coral, placing his foot on the shell of the great mollusk. This is ​smooth and slimy; his foot slips into the opening between the valves, and Mr. King, being much alarmed, closes his shell with tremendous force. The diver, unable to drag the great weight, is held until drowned. His comrades go down to seek him, and thus we know the story.
If this mollusk were good to eat, a single tridacna would supply many great steaks, any one of which would fill the largest frying-pan. C. A. Hargrave.
# St. Nicholas/Volume 32/Number 4/Nature and Science/Quails

* related authors: T. Bradford.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, taxonomy, Wikidata item.
The flock of Quail coming over the fence from the fields and alighting in the barnyard.
The Friendly Quails
One cold morning Farmer Glover stood in A Quail “At Home,” Down Under the Hill Back of the Farm-house.the rear of the barn, fork in hand, looking out over the fields. Snow-storm had followed snow-storm, until the stone walls were so covered that the farm seemed like a great field, with here and there a small grove to break the monotony. The cattle had been fed, and each animal was munching contentedly at its pile of hay in the sunshine, scattering chaff over the snowy barnyard.
Suddenly, from the light woods near the barn, came a startled “Bob-white!” Immediately there was an, answering call from the woods across the fields, and then another and another, and soon a flock of about twenty quail alighted cautiously on the ground, two or three rods from where Mr. Glover stood, and began picking up the seeds from the hay which the cattle had strewn over the snow. They scratched about like a flock of hens and apparently quite as much at home, and chippered away while they worked, after the fashion of tree-sparrows in the weeds down by the brook.
Farmer Glover was careful not to frighten his woodland guests, and the next morning he put out wheat for them and threw handfuls of chaff in the hay which the cattle had left. The flock returned again and again, until feeding the quails has become as much a part of the day’s routine as looking after the hens and turkeys. One cold morning, after they had ​eaten, the kind-hearted farmer found the whole flock huddled together under the hay, apparently enjoying the warmth. Strange to say, they never come for their food when it snows or rains. When they have breakfasted, unless frightened, they usually walk away to their favorite haunts in the grove across the fields. They never alight on the trees, but occasionally perch on the rail fence. Once or twice, when no one was in sight, they came near the house.
For six weeks the quails have enjoyed Farmer Glover’s bounty. When spring opens, their kind-hearted protector will meet them only in the fields and woods; but whenever bob-white’s musical call comes over the summer meadows it will bring pleasant memories of those winter breakfasts in the snowy barnyard. W. C. Knowles.
# Songs of the Affections, with Other Poems/The Wounded Eagle

THE WOUNDED EAGLE.
Eagle! this is not thy sphere! Warrior bird! what seek'st thou here? Wherefore by the fountain's brink Doth thy royal pinion sink? Wherefore on the violet's bed Lay'st thou thus thy drooping head? Thou, that hold'st the blast in scorn, Thou, that wear'st the wings of morn!
Eagle! wilt thou not arise? Look upon thine own bright skies! Lift thy glance! the fiery sun There his pride of place hath won!
And the mountain lark is there, And sweet sound hath fill'd the air; Hast thou left that realm on high? — Oh! it can be but to die!
Eagle, Eagle! thou hast bow'd From thine empire o'er the cloud! Thou, that hadst ethereal birth, Thou hast stoop'd too near the earth And the hunter's shaft hath found thee, And the toils of death have bound thee! —Wherefore didst thou leave thy place, Creature of a kingly race?
Wert thou weary of thy throne? Was thy sky's dominion lone? Chill and lone it well might be, Yet that mighty wing was free!
Now the chain is o'er it cast, From thy heart the blood flows fast, —Woe for gifted souls and high! Is not such their destiny?
# Songs of the Affections, with Other Poems/Thekla at her Lover's Grave

THEKLA AT HER LOVER'S GRAVE.
Thither where he lies buried! That single spot is the whole world to me. Coleridge's Wallenstein.
Thy voice was in my soul! it call'd me on;  O my lost friend! thy voice was in my soul: From the cold, faded world, whence thou art gone,  To hear no more life's troubled billows roll, I come, I come!
Now speak to me again! we loved so well—  We loved! oh! still, I know that still we love! I have left all things with thy dust to dwell,  Through these dim aisles in dreams of thee to rove: This is my home!
Speak to me in the thrilling minster's gloom!  Speak! thou hast died, and sent me no farewell! I will not shrink;—oh! mighty is the tomb,  But one thing mightier, which it cannot quell, This woman's heart!
This lone, full, fragile heart!—the strong alone  In love and grief—of both the burning shrine! Thou, my soul's friend! with grief hast surely done,  But with the love which made thy spirit mine, Say, couldst thou part ?
I hear the rustling banners; and I hear  The wind's low singing through the fretted stone; I hear not thee; and yet I feel thee near—  What is this bound that keeps thee from thine own? Breathe it away!
I wait thee—I adjure thee! hast thou known  How I have loved thee? couldst thou dream it all?
Am I not here, with night and death alone,  And fearing not? and hath my spirit's call O'er thine no sway?
Thou canst not come! or thus I should not weep!  Thy love is deathless—but no longer free! Soon would its wing triumphantly o'ersweep  The viewless barrier, if such power might be, Soon, soon, and fast!
But I shall come to thee! our souls' deep dreams,  Our young affections, have not gush'd in vain; Soon in one tide shall blend the sever'd streams,  The worn heart break its bonds—and death and pain Be with the past!
# Songs of the Affections, with Other Poems/Woman on the Field of Battle

WOMAN ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE.
Where hath not woman stood, Strong in affection's might? a reed, upborne By an o'ermastering current!
Gentle and lovely form,  What didst thou here, When the fierce battle-storm  Bore down the spear?
Banner and shiver'd crest,  Beside thee strown, Tell, that amidst the best,  Thy work was done!
Yet strangely, sadly fair,  O'er the wild scene, Gleams, through its golden hair,  That brow serene.
Low lies the stately head,—  Earth-bound the free; How gave those haughty dead  A place to thee?
Slumberer! thine early bier  Friends should have crown'd, Many a flower and tear  Shedding around.
Soft voices, clear and young,  Mingling their swell, Should o'er thy dust have sung  Earth's last farewell.
Sisters, above the grave  Of thy repose, Should have bid violets wave  With the white rose.
Now must the trumpet's note,  Savage and shrill, For requiem o'er thee float,  Thou fair and still!
And the swift charger sweep,  In full career, Trampling thy place of sleep,—  Why camest thou here?
Why?—ask the true heart why  Woman hath been Ever, where brave men die,  Unshrinking seen?
Unto this harvest ground  Proud reapers came,— Some, for that stirring sound,  A warrior's name;
Some, for the stormy play  And joy of strife; And some, to fling away  A weary life;—
But thou, pale sleeper, thou,  With the slight frame, And the rich locks, whose glow  Death cannot tame;
Only one thought, one power,  Thee could have led, So, through the tempest's hour,  To lift thy head!
Only the true, the strong,  The love, whose trust Woman's deep soul too long  Pours on the dust!
# Songs of the Affections, with Other Poems/The Vaudois' Wife

THE VAUDOIS' WIFE
Clasp me a little longer, on the brink  Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress: And when this heart hath ceased to beat, oh! think—  And let it mitigate thy woe's excess—  That thou to me hast been all tenderness, And friend, to more than human friendship just.  Oh! by that retrospect of happiness, And by the hopes of an immortal trust, God shall assuage thy pangs, when I am laid in dust. Gertrude of Wyoming.
Thy voice is in mine ear, beloved! Thy look is in my heart,
Thy bosom is my resting-place,  And yet I must depart. Earth on my soul is strong—too strong—  Too precious is its chain, All woven of thy love, dear friend,  Yet vain—though mighty—vain!
Thou see'st mine eye grow dim, beloved!  Thou see'st my life-blood flow.— Bow to the chastener silently,  And calmly let me go! A little while between our hearts  The shadowy gulf must lie, Yet have we for their communing  Still, still Eternity!
Alas! thy tears are on my cheek,  My spirit they detain; I know that from thine agony  Is wrung that burning rain.
Best, kindest, weep not;—make the pang,  The bitter conflict, less— Oh! sad it is, and yet a joy,  To feel thy love's excess!
But calm thee! Let the thought of death  A solemn peace restore! The voice that must be silent soon,  Would speak to thee once more, That thou mayst bear its blessing on  Through years of after life— A token of consoling love,  Even from this hour of strife.
I bless thee for the noble heart,  The tender, and the true, Where mine hath found the happiest rest  That e'er fond woman's knew; I bless thee, faithful friend and guide,  For my own, my treasured share,
In the mournful secrets of thy soul,  In thy sorrow, in thy prayer.
I bless thee for kind looks and words  Shower'd on my path like dew, For all the love in those deep eyes,  A gladness ever new! For the voice which ne'er to mine replied  But in kindly tones of cheer; For every spring of happiness  My soul hath tasted here!
I bless thee for the last rich boon  Won from affection tried, The right to gaze on death with thee,  To perish by thy side! And yet more for the glorious hope  Even to these moments given— Did not thy spirit ever lift  The trust of mine to Heaven?
Now be thou strong! Oh! knew we not  Our path must lead to this? A shadow and a trembling still  Were mingled with our bliss! We plighted our young hearts when storms  Were dark upon the sky, In fall, deep knowledge of their task  To suffer and to die!
Be strong! I leave the living voice  Of this, my martyr'd blood, With the thousand echoes of the hills,  With the torrent's foaming flood,— A spirit 'midst the caves to dwell,  A token on the air, To rouse the valiant from repose,  The fainting from despair.
Hear it, and bear thou on, my love!  Aye, joyously endure!
Our mountains must be altars yet,  Inviolate and pure; There must our God be worshipp'd still  With the worship of the free— Farewell!—there's but one pang in death,  One only,—leaving thee!
# Songs of the Affections, with Other Poems/Triumphant Music

TRIUMPHANT MUSIC.
Tacete, tacete, O suoni trionfanti! Risvegliate in vano 'l cor che non può liberarsi.
Wherefore and whither bear'st thou up my spirit,  On eagle wings, through every plume that thrill? It hath no crown of victory to inherit—  Be still, triumphant harmony! be still!
Thine are no sounds for earth, thus proudly swelling  Into rich floods of joy:—it is but pain To mount so high, yet find on high no dwelling,  To sink so fast, so heavily again!
No sounds for earth?—Yes, to young chieftain dying  On his own battle-field, at set of sun, With his freed country's banner o'er him flying,  Well mightst thou speak of fame's high guerdon won.
No sounds for earth?—Yes, for the martyr leading  Unto victorious death serenely on, For patriot by his rescued altars bleeding,  Thou hast a voice in each majestic tone.
But speak not thus to one whose heart is beating  Against life's narrow bound, in conflict vain! For power, for joy, high hope, and rapturous greeting,  Thou wak'st lone thirst—be hush'd, exulting strain!
Be hush'd, or breathe of grief!—of exile yearnings  Under the willows of the stranger-shore;
Breathe of the soul's untold and restless burnings,  For looks, tones, footsteps, that return no more.
Breathe of deep love—a lonely vigil keeping  Through the night-hours, o'er wasted wealth to pine; Rich thoughts and sad, like faded rose-leaves heaping,  In the shut heart, at once a tomb and shrine.
Or pass as if thy spirit-notes came sighing  From worlds beneath some blue Elysian sky; Breathe of repose, the pure, the bright, th' undying—  Of joy no more—bewildering harmony!
# Songs of the Army of the Night

SONGS
OF
THE ARMY OF THE NIGHT.
SONGS
OF THE
ARMY OF THE NIGHT.
BY
FRANCIS ADAMS.
"For the cause of Labour all over the Earth!"
LONDON: WILLIAM REEVES, 185, FLEET ST., E.C. 1894.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Songs of the Affections, with Other Poems/To a Departed Spirit

TO A DEPARTED SPIRIT.
From the bright stars, or from the viewless air, Or from some world unreached by human thought, Spirit, sweet spirit! if thy home be there, And if thy visions with the past be fraught, Answer me, answer me!
Have we not communed here of life and death? Have we not said that love, such love as ours, Was not to perish as a rose's breath, To melt away, like song from festal bowers? Answer, oh! answer me!
Thine eye's last light was mine—the soul that shone Intensely, mournfully, through gathering haze—
Didst thou bear with thee to the shore unknown, Nought of what lived in that long, earnest gaze? Hear, hear, and answer me!
Thy voice—its low, soft, fervent, farewell tone Thrill'd through the tempest of the parting strife, Like a faint breeze:—oh! from that music flown, Send back one sound, if love's be quenchless life, But once, oh! answer me!
In the still noontide, in the sunset's hush, In the dead hour of night, when thought grows deep, When the heart's phantoms from the darkness rush, Fearfully beautiful, to strive with sleep— Spirit! then answer me!
By the remembrance of our blended pray'r; By all our tears, whose mingling made them sweet; By our last hope, the victor o'er despair;— Speak! if our souls in deathless yearnings meet; Answer me, answer me!
The grave is silent:—and the far-off sky, And the deep midnight—silent all, and lone! Oh! if thy buried love make no reply, What voice has Earth?—Hear, pity, speak, mine own! Answer me, answer me!
# Songs of the Affections, with Other Poems/The Vigil of Arms

THE VIGIL OF ARMS
A sounding step was heard by night  In a church where the mighty slept, As a mail-clad youth, till morning's light,  Midst the tombs his vigil kept. He walk'd in dreams of power and fame,  He lifted a proud, bright eye, For the hours were few that withheld his name  From the roll of chivalry.
Down the moon-lit aisles he paced alone,  With a free and stately tread;
And the floor gave back a muffled tone  From the couches of the dead: The silent many that round him lay,  The crown'd and helm'd that were, The haughty chiefs of the war-array—  Each in his sepulchre!
But no dim warning of time or fate  That youth's flush'd hopes could chill, He moved through the trophies of buried state  With each proud pulse throbbing still. He heard, as the wind through the chancel sung,  A swell of the trumpet's breath; He look'd to the banners on high that hung,  And not to the dust beneath.
And a royal masque of splendour seem'd  Before him to unfold; Through the solemn arches on it stream'd,  With many a gleam of gold:
There were crested knight, and gorgeous dame,  Glittering athwart the gloom, And he follow'd, till his bold step came  To his warrior-father's tomb.
But there the still and shadowy might  Of the monumental stone, And the holy sleep of the soft lamp's light,  That over its quiet shone, And the image of that sire, who died  In his noonday of renown— These had a power unto which the pride  Of fiery life bow'd down.
And a spirit from his early years  Came back o'er his thoughts to move, Till his eye was fill'd with memory's tears,  And his heart with childhood's love! And he look'd, with a change in his softening glance,  To the armour o'er the grave,—
For there they hung, the shield and lance,  And the gauntlet of the brave.
And the sword of many a field was there,  With its cross for the hour of need, When the knight's bold war-cry hath sunk in prayer,  And the spear is a broken reed! —Hush! did a breeze through the armour sigh?  Did the folds of the banner shake? Not so!—from the tomb's dark mystery  There seem'd a voice to break!
He had heard that voice bid clarions blow,  He had caught its last blessing's breath,— 'Twas the same—but its awful sweetness now  Had an under tone of death! And it said,—"The sword hath conquer'd kings,  And the spear through realms hath pass'd; But the cross, alone, of all these things,  Might aid me at the last."
# Songs of the Affections, with Other Poems/The Voice of the Wind

THE VOICE OF THE WIND.
There is nothing in the wide world so like the voice of a spirit. Gray's Letters.
Oh! many a voice is thine, thou Wind! full many a voice is thine, From every scene thy wing o'ersweeps thou bear'st a sound and sign; A minstrel wild and strong thou art, with a mastery all thine own, And the spirit is thy harp, O Wind! that gives the answering tone.
Thou hast been across red fields of war, where shiver' d helmets lie, And thou bringest thence the thrilling note of a clarion in the sky; A rustling of proud banner-folds, a peal of stormy drums,— All these are in thy music met, as when a leader comes.
Thou hast been o'er solitary seas, and from their wastes brought back Each noise of waters that awoke in the mystery of thy track; The chime of low soft southern waves on some green palmy shore, The hollow roll of distant surge, the gather'd billows roar.
Thou art come from forests dark and deep, thou mighty rushing Wind! And thou bearest all their unisons in one full swell combined; The restless pines, the moaning stream, all hidden things and free, Of the dim old sounding wilderness, hare lent their soul to thee.
Thou art come from cities lighted up for the conqueror passing by, Thou art wafting from their streets a sound of haughty revelry; The rolling of triumphant wheels, the harpings in the hall, The far-off shout of multitudes, are in thy rise and fall.
Thou art come from kingly tombs and shrines, from ancient minsters vast, Through the dark aisles of a thousand years thy lonely wing hath pass'd; Thou hast caught the anthem's billowy swell, the stately dirge's tone, For a chief, with sword, and shield, and helm, to his place of slumber gone.
Thou art come from long-forsaken homes, wherein our young days flew, Thou hast found sweet voices lingering there, the loved, the kind, the true; Thou callest back those melodies, though now all changed and fled,— Be still, be still, and haunt us not with music from the dead!
Are all these notes in thee, wild Wind? these many notes in thee? Far in our own unfathom'd souls their fount must surely be; Yes! buried, but unsleeping, there Thought watches, Memory lies, From whose deep urn the tones are pour'd through all Earth's harmonies.