OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Valley of Adventure

The Valley of Adventure
A Romance of California Mission Days
By George W. Ogden
Author of The Rustler of Wind River, The Land of Last Chance, The Bondboy, Trail's End, The Road to Monterey, etc.
Chicago A. C. McClurg & Co. 1926
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1966, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 57 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Valley Farmer

The Valley Farmer is a periodical, published from 1849 to 1864. It was replaced by Colman's Rural World and Valley Farmer.
* Volume 5 (1853) (transcription project)
* Volume 6 External scan
* Volume 7 External scan
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Valiant Soldiers

Sojourner Truth claimed to have written this song during the American Civil War for the 1st Michigan Colored Regiment, and it was sung by her in Detroit and Washington. It is nearly identical to the Song of the First of Arkansas attributed to Lindley Miller. It is sung to the tune of "John Brown" or "Battle Hymn of the Republic".
WE are the valiant soldiers who've 'listed for the war;  We are fighting for the Union, we are fighting for the law;  We can shoot a rebel farther than a white man ever saw,  As we go marching on.
 Chorus.--  Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah!  Glory, glory, hallelujah, as we go marching on.
 Look there above the center, where the flag is waving bright;  We are going out of slavery, we are bound for freedom's light;  We mean to show Jeff Davis how the Africans can fight,  As we go marching on.--Chorus.
 We are done with hoeing cotton, we are done with hoeing corn;  We are colored Yankee soldiers as sure as you are born.  When massa hears us shouting, he will think 'tis Gabriel's horn,  As we go marching on.--Chorus.
 They will have to pay us wages, the wages of their sin;  They will have to bow their foreheads to their colored kith and kin;  They will have to give us house-room, or the roof will tumble in,  As we go marching on.--Chorus.
 We hear the proclamation, massa, hush it as you will;  The birds will sing it to us, hopping on the cotton hill;  The possum up the gum tree couldn't keep it still,  As he went climbing on.--Chorus.
 Father Abraham has spoken, and the message has been sent;  The prison doors have opened, and out the prisoners went  To join the sable army of African descent,  As we go marching on.--Chorus.
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
# The poetical works of Thomas Campbell/Battle of the Baltic

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
# The poetical works of Matthew Arnold/Urania

URANIA.
She smiles and smiles, and will not sigh, While we for hopeless passion die; Yet she could love, those eyes declare, Were but men nobler than they are.
Eagerly once her gracious ken Was turned upon the sons of men; But light the serious visage grew— She looked, and smiled, and saw them through.
Our petty souls, our strutting wits, Our labored, puny passion-fits,— Ah, may she scorn them still, till we Scorn them as bitterly as she!
Yet show her once, ye heavenly Powers, One of some worthier race than ours! One for whose sake she once might prove How deeply she who scorns can love.
His eyes be like the starry lights, His voice like sounds of summer nights; In all his lovely mien let pierce The magic of the universe!
And she to him will reach her hand, And gazing in his eyes will stand, And know her friend, and weep for glee, And cry, Long, long I've looked for thee.
Then will she weep: with smiles, till then, Coldly she mocks the sons of men; Till then, her lovely eyes maintain Their pure, unwavering, deep disdain.
# The poetical works of Matthew Arnold/Worldly Place

This poem was written about a thought by Marcus Aurelius at Meditations v. 16: "where a man can live, there he can also live well. But he must live in a palace; well then, he can also live well in a palace." (George Long tr.)
WORLDLY PLACE.
Even in a palace, life may be led well! So spake the imperial sage, purest of men, Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell,
Our freedom for a little bread we sell, And drudge under some foolish master's ken Who rates us if we peer outside our pen,— Matched with a palace, is not this a hell?
Even in a palace! On his truth sincere, Who spoke these words, no shadow ever came; And when my ill-schooled spirit is aflame
Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win, I'll stop, and say, "There were no succor here! The aids to noble life are all within."
# The poetical works of Matthew Arnold/Youth and Calm

YOUTH AND CALM.
'Tis death! and peace indeed is here, And ease from shame, and rest from fear There's nothing can dismarble now The smoothness of that limpid brow. But is a calm like this, in truth, The crowning end of life and youth? And when this boon rewards the dead, Are all debts paid, has all been said? And is the heart of youth so light, Its step so firm, its eye so bright, Because on its hot brow there blows A wind of promise and repose From the far grave, to which it goes; Because it has the hope to come, One day, to harbor in the tomb? Ah, no! the bliss youth dreams is one For daylight, for the cheerful sun, For feeling nerves and living breath; Youth dreams a bliss on this side death ​It dreams a rest, if not more deep, More grateful than this marble sleep; It hears a voice within it tell,— Calm's not life's crown, though calm is well 'Tis all, perhaps, which man acquires, But 'tis not what our youth desires.
# The poetical works of Matthew Arnold/West London

WEST LONDON.
Crouched on the pavement, close by Belgrave Square, A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied; A babe was in her arms, and at her side A girl; their clothes were rags, their feet were bare.
Some laboring-men, whose work lay somewhere there, Passed opposite; she touched her girl, who hied Across, and begged, and came back satisfied. The rich she had let pass with frozen stare.
Thought I, "Above her state this spirit towers; She will not ask of aliens, but of friends, Of sharers in a common human fate.
She turns from that cold succor, which attends The unknown little from the unknowing great, And points us to a better time than ours."
# The poetical works of Matthew Arnold/Youth's Agitations

YOUTH'S AGITATIONS.
When I shall be divorced, some ten years hence, From this poor present self which I am now; When youth has done its tedious vain expense Of passions that forever ebb and flow:
Shall I not joy youth's heats are left behind, And breathe more happy in an even clime? Ah, no! for then I shall begin to find A thousand virtues in this hated time!
Then I shall wish its agitations back, And all its thwarting currents of desire; Then I shall praise the heat which then I lack, And call this hurrying fever, generous fire;
And sigh that one thing only has been lent To youth and age in common,—discontent.
# The poetical works of Thomas Campbell

THE
POETICAL WORKS
OF
THOMAS CAMPBELL.
LONDON: EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET
M DCCC XXXVII.
LONDON: BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
CONTENTS
Engraved by F. Finden. From a Bust by E. H. Baily. B. A.
THOMAS CAMPBELL.
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
# The poetical works of Thomas Campbell/A Dream

A DREAM.
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/Fountains

Fountains
Soft is the collied night, and cool
The wind about the garden pool.
Here will I dip my burning hand
And move an inch of drowsy sand,
And pray the dark reflected skies
To fasten with their seal mine eyes.
A million million leagues away
Among the stars the goldfish play,
And high above the shadowed stars
Wave and float the nenuphars.
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/A New Year’s Carol

A New Year's Carol
Awake, awake! The world is young, For all its weary years of thought:
The starkest fights must still be fought,
The most surprising songs be sung.
And those who have no other Gods
May still behold, if they bestir,
The windy amphitheatre
Where dawn the timeless periods.
Then hear the shouting-voice of men
Magniloquently rise and ring:
Their flashing eyes and measured swing
Prove that the world is young again.
I was beyond the hills, and heard
That old and fervent Goddess call,
Whose voice is like a waterfall,
And sweeter than the singing-bird.
​O stubborn arms of rosy youth,
Break down your other Gods, and turn
To where her dauntless eyeballs burn,— The silent pools of Light and Truth.
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/Don Juan in Hell

Charles Baudelaire's poem Don Juan aux enfers, translated by James Elroy Flecker
Don Juan in Hell
(From Baudelaire)
The night Don Juan came to pay his fees  To Charon, by the caverned water’s shore, A beggar, proud-eyed as Antisthenes,  Stretched out his knotted fingers on the oar.
Mournful, with drooping breasts and robes unsewn
 The shapes of women swayed in ebon skies, Trailing behind him with a restless moan  Like cattle herded for a sacrifice.
Here, grinning for his wage, stood Sganarelle,  And here Don Luis pointed, bent and dim, To show the dead who lined the holes of Hell,  This was that impious son who mocked at him.
The hollow-eyed, the chaste Elvira came,  Trembling and veiled, to view her traitor spouse. Was it one last bright smile she thought to claim,  Such as made sweet the morning of his vows?
A great stone man rose like a tower on board,  Stood at the helm and cleft the flood profound: But the calm hero, leaning on his sword,  Gazed back, and would not offer one look round.
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/Editorial Note

​Editorial Note
Twenty of the poems in this edition have never been published before, or have appeared only in periodicals. These may be distinguished by the dates which are appended beneath them. The whole of the poems published in book form during the poet’s lifetime are reprinted with the exception of seven lyrics which there is reason to believe he did not desire to perpetuate. Of the new ones several are "Juvenilia," written between the ages of sixteen and twenty, which have been included in order to illustrate his development
The poems are arranged in a roughly chronological order; those written in the years 1907–10 following most nearly (more information as to date being available with these) the actual order of composition.
The text of many, especially of the early, poems will be found to differ considerably from that hitherto printed, owing to Flecker’s habit of continual revision. In some of the MSS. there are variant readings from which the present editor has been compelled to select. The fragments of the "Ode to Shelley" presented the most difficult problem, and the order in which they are placed is not to be presumed the correct order.
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/Envoy

Envoy
    The young men leap, and toss their golden hair,
    Run round the land, or sail across the seas:
    But one was stricken with a sore disease,
    The lean and swarthy poet of despair.
    Know me, the slave of fear and death and shame,
    A sad Comedian, a most tragic Fool,
    Shallow, imperfect, fashioned without rule,
    The doubtful shadow of a demon flame.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 12/From Henry St. John to Jonathan Swift - 20

FROM THE SAME.
SUNDAY.
YOU may be sure of Letters from me to people, who will receive you with all the honours due to so great a traveller, and so exact an author. I am obliged to stay in the country to morrow, by some business relating to my poor farm, which I would willingly make a rich one; and for which purpose a person is with me, who comes from Suffolk on my summons.
​On Tuesday, by seven in the evening, I will certainly be in the Pall Mall, and there you shall have, if you meet me, and not otherwise, both my letters and instructions, which will be of use to you.
Raillery apart: since you do go into France, I shall be glad to talk with you before your departure; and I fancy you would not leave England without embracing the man in England who loves you best. Adieu. My best services attend all with you.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 12/From John Arbuthnot to Jonathan Swift - 11

FROM DR. ARBUTHNOT.
I HAVE the vanity to think, that a few friends have a real concern for me, and are uneasy when I am in distress; in consequence of which, I ought to ​communicate with them the joy of my recovery. I did not want a most kind paragraph in your letter to Mr. Pope, to convince me, that you are of the number; and I know, that I give you a sensible pleasure in telling you, that I think myself at this time almost perfectly recovered of a most unusual and dangerous distemper, an imposthume in the bowels; such a one, that had it been in the hands of a chirurgeon, in an outward and fleshy part, I should not have been well these three months. Duke Disney, our old friend, is in a fair way to recover of such another. There have been several of them, occasioned, as I reckon, by the cold and wet season. People have told me of new impostures (as they called them) every day. Poor Sir William Wyndham has an imposthume: I hope the Bath, where he is going, will do him good. The hopes of seeing once more the dean of St. Patrick's, revives my spirits. I cannot help imagining some of our old club met together like mariners after a storm. For God's sake do not tantalize your friends any more. I can prove by twenty unanswerable arguments, that it is absolutely necessary, that you should come over to England; that it would be committing the greatest absurdity that ever was, not to do it the next approaching winter. I believe, indeed, it is just possible to save your soul without it, and that is all. As for your book (of which I have framed to myself such an idea, that I am persuaded there is no doing any good upon mankind without it) I will set the letters myself, rather than that it should not be published. But before you put the finishing ​hand to it, it is really necessary to be acquainted with some new improvements of mankind, that have appeared of late, and are daily appearing. Mankind has an inexhaustible source of invention in the way of folly and madness. I have only one fear, that when you come over, you will be so much coveted and taken up by the ministry, that unless your friends meet you at their tables, they will have none of your company. This is really no joke; I am quite in earnest. Your deafness is so necessary a thing, that I almost begin to think it an affectation. I remember you used to reckon dinners. I know of near half a year's dinners, where you are already bespoke. It is worth your while to come to see your old friend Lewis, who is wiser than ever he was, the best of husbands. I am sure I can say from my own experience, that he is the best of friends. He was so to me, when he had little hope I should ever live to thank him.
You must acquaint me before you take your journey, that we may provide a convenient lodging for you among your friends. I am called away this moment, and have only time to add, that I long to see you, and am most sincerely, dear sir, your most faithful humble servant,
JO. ARBUTHNOT.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 12/From John Arbuthnot to Jonathan Swift - 12

FROM DR. ARBUTHNOT.
TUESDAY, THREE O'CLOCK,
I HAVE been at your lodgings this morning, but you was out early. Her royal highness begs the honour of a visit from you on Thursday night at seven o'clock. You are to be attended by, dear sir, your most faithful humble servant,
JO. ARBUTHNOT.
I hope you will not engage yourself at that hour; but I shall see you before that time.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 12/From Henry St. John to Jonathan Swift - 19

FROM THE SAME.
CRANFORD, TUESDAY.
I HAVE so severe a defluxion of rheum on both my eyes, that I dare hardly stir abroad. You will be ready to say, Physician, cure thyself; and that is what I am about. I took away, by cupping, yesterday, fourteen ounces of blood; and such an operation would, I believe, have done you more good than steel and bitters, waters and drops. I wish John Gay success in his pursuit; but I think he has some qualities which will keep him down in the world. Good God! what is man? polished, civilized, learned man! A liberal education fits him for slavery; and the pains he has taken give him the ​noble pretension of dangling away life in an antichamber, or of employing real talents to serve those who have none; or, which is worse than all the rest, of making his reason and his knowledge serve all the purposes of other men's follies and vices. You say not a word to me about the publick, of whom I think as seldom as possible. I consider myself as a man with some little satisfaction, and with some use; but I have no pleasure in thinking I am an Englishman; nor is it, I doubt, to much purpose, to act like one. Serpit enim res, quæ proclivis ad perniciem, cum semel cœpit, labitur. Plures enim discunt quemadmodum hæc fiant, quam quemadmodum his resistatur. Adieu.
Let me know how you do. If your landlord is returned, my kindest services to him.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 12/From Henry St. John to Jonathan Swift - 21

FROM THE SAME.
[AUGUST 1727.] TUESDAY.
I RETURN you the papers, which I have read twice over since you was here. They are extremely well; but the Craftsman has not only advertised the publick, that he intended to turn news writer, he has begun, and for some weeks continued to appear under that new character. This consideration inclines me to think, that another turn might be given to the introduction; and perhaps this would naturally call for a fourth letter from the Occasional Writer, to account for his silence, to prosecute your argument, to state the present disputes about political affairs; and in short, to revive and animate the paper war. When we meet next, I will explain myself better than I can do by a letter writ in haste, with mowers and haymakers about me. Adieu. Let Pope share my embraces with you.
# The Works of H. G. Wells (Atlantic Edition)/The First Men in the Moon/Chapter 25

XXV
THE LAST MESSAGE CAVOR SENT TO THE EARTH
In this unsatisfactory manner the penultimate message of Cavor dies out. One seems to see him away there amidst his blue-lit apparatus intently signalling us to the last, all unaware of the curtain of confusion that drops between us; all unaware, too, of the final dangers that even then must have been creeping upon him. His disastrous want of vulgar common sense had utterly betrayed him. He had talked of war, he had talked of all the strength and irrational violence of men, of their insatiable aggressions, their tireless futility of conflict. He had filled the whole moon world with this impression of our race, and then I think it is plain he admitted that upon himself alone hung the possibility—at least for a long time—of any other men reaching the moon. The line the cold, inhuman reason of the moon would take seems plain enough to me, and a suspicion of it, and then perhaps some sudden sharp realisation of it, must have come to him. One imagines him going about the moon with the remorse of this fatal indiscretion growing in his mind. During a certain time most assuredly the Grand Lunar was deliberating the new situation, and for all that time Cavor went as free as ever he had gone. We imagine that obstacles of some sort prevented his getting ​to his electro-magnetic apparatus again after that last message I have given. For some days we received nothing. Perhaps he was having fresh audiences, and trying to evade his previous admissions. Who can hope to guess?
And then suddenly, like a cry in the night, like a cry that is followed by a stillness, came the last message. It is the briefest fragment, the broken beginnings of two sentences.
The first was:
"I was mad to let the Grand Lunar know———"
There was an interval of perhaps a minute. One imagines some interruption from without. A departure from the instrument—a dreadful hesitation among the looming masses of apparatus in that dim, blue-lit cavern—a sudden rush back to it, full of a resolve that came too late. Then, as if it were hastily transmitted, came:
"Cavorite made as follows: take———"
There followed one word, a quite unmeaning word as it stands———
"uless."
And that is all.
It may be he made a hasty attempt to spell "useless" when his fate was close upon him. Whatever it was that was happening about that apparatus, we cannot tell. Whatever it was we shall never, I know, receive another message from the moon. For my own part a vivid dream has come to my help, and I see, almost as plainly as though I had seen it in actual fact, a blue-lit dishevelled Cavor struggling in the grip of a great multitude of those insect Selenites, ​struggling ever more desperately and hopelessly as they swarm upon him, shouting, expostulating, perhaps even at last fighting, and being forced backward step by step out of all speech or sign of his fellows, for evermore into the Unknown—into the dark, into that silence that has no end.
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# The Visit

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Visit."
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* The Visit, poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
* The Visit by Goethe
* "The Visit", short story by Henry James, later re-titled "The Visits"
# The Visit (Emerson)

Askest, 'How long thou shalt stay?'
* The Visit in Poems (1847)
* The Visit in Poems (Household Edition, 1904)
# The Visions and Prophecies of Zechariah/Foreword

FOREWORD
By Prebendary H. E. Fox, M.A.
THE Bible is an inexhaustible gold mine. Age after age men have been drawing from it priceless treasures. The most successful searchers have not been " the wise and prudent " of this world, but to holy and humble men of heart it has been given to know therein the " secret of the Lord." Still more when to this spirit is joined both sanctified scholarship and racial intuition. It is for this reason that among the many expositors of latter days we cherish the memory of Adolph Saphir, truly " a scribe instructed unto the kingdom of heaven, bringing forth out of his treasure things new and old." For the like reason we commend to Bible lovers the exposition which our beloved brother, the author of the following pages, has given of prophetic Scriptures, too little studied at the present time, and yet of increasing importance for all who would learn the purposes of God, perhaps very soon to be fulfilled. Those who have followed the expositions in The Scattered Nation will be thankful to have them in a connected form, and we hope that many who had not seen them in their earlier state will study them carefully, and find faith and hope quickened in each step they take along the prophetic path.
The Introduction to the second part will be found especially helpful to those who have been troubled by the ​difficulties created by the critics, whose shortsightedness is ill fitted to take in the vast perspective of the Divine picture. And other readers will at least learn to say with the Psalmist, " Thy testimonies are wonderful, therefore doth my soul keep them."
H. E. FOX.
# The Visions and Prophecies of Zechariah/Index of Scripture Texts

INDEX OF SCRIPTURE TEXTS