OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# In the dozy hours, and other papers

By Miss Repplier.
BOOKS AND MEN. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25.
POINTS OF VIEW. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25.
ESSAYS IN IDLENESS. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25.
IN THE DOZY HOURS, AND OTHER PAPERS. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25.
A BOOK OF FAMOUS VERSE. Selected by Agnes Repplier. In Riverside Library for Young People. 16mo, 75 cents; Holiday Edition, 16mo, fancy binding, $1.25.
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
Boston and New York.
IN THE DOZY HOURS
AND OTHER PAPERS
BY
AGNES REPPLIER
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1894
Copyright, 1894,
By AGNES REPPLIER.
All rights reserved.
The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass. U. S. A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
TO
ANNIS LEE WISTER
CONTENTS.
| | PAGE |
| In the Dozy Hours | 1 |
| A Kitten | 16 |
| At the Novelist's Table | 32 |
| In Behalf of Parents | 42 |
| Aut Cæsar, aut Nihil | 60 |
| A Note on Mirrors | 76 |
| Gifts | 85 |
| Humor: English and American | 94 |
| The Discomforts of Luxury: A Speculation | 112 |
| Lectures | 123 |
| Reviewers and Reviewed | 137 |
| Pastels: A Query | 153 |
| Guests | 158 |
| Sympathy | 165 |
| Opinions | 176 |
| The Children's Age | 190 |
| A Forgotten Poet | 201 |
| Dialogues | 211 |
| A Curious Contention | 217 |
| The Passing of the Essay | 226 |
IN THE DOZY HOURS, AND OTHER PAPERS.
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 1950, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 73 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
# In the Welsh Manner

Dear Nan, at thy command I string a sonnet, And must in rhyme surpass the Italian skill, Full fourteen lines with flimsy jingle fill. What fools we lovers are--I've thus begun it-- The task is hard, but yet I dare not shun it-- I'll persevere and bid the muse distil Strength in my thought from her inspiring rill. Till to the length required I've neatly spun it.
But when at length thy fettered bard has done it, Poor is the thought--the sentiment how chill! See where he stands! Knight of the dashing quill! Bewigged a critic, and he'll poop upon it But let the witless growler have his will, I bargained for thy kiss, and have now fairly won it.
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
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Children of Adam/Once I Pass'd through a Populous City

ONCE I PASS'D THROUGH A POPULOUS CITY.
Once I passed through a populous city imprinting my brain for future use with its shows, architecture, customs, traditions, Yet now of all that city I remember only a woman I casually met there who detain'd me for love of me, Day by day and night by night we were together—all else has long been forgotten by me, I remember I say only that woman who passionately clung to me, Again we wander, we love, we separate again, Again she holds me by the hand, I must not go, I see her close beside me with silent lips sad and tremulous.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Children of Adam/Out of the Rolling Ocean the Crowd

OUT OF THE ROLLING OCEAN THE CROWD.
Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me, Whispering I love you, before long I die, I have travel'd a long way merely to look on you to touch you, For I could not die till I once look'd on you, For I fear'd I might afterward lose you.
Now we have met, we have look'd, we are safe, Return in peace to the ocean my love, I too am part of that ocean my love, we are not so much separated, Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect! But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us, As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever; Be not impatient—a little space—know you I salute the air, the ocean and the land, Every day at sundown for your dear sake my love.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Children of Adam/O Hymen! O Hymenee!

O HYMEN! O HYMENEE!
O hymen! O hymenee! why do you tantalize me thus? O why sting me for a swift moment only? Why can you not continue? O why do you now cease? Is it because if you continued beyond the swift moment you would soon certainly kill me?
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Children of Adam/One Hour to Madness and Joy

ONE HOUR TO MADNESS AND JOY.
One hour to madness and joy! O furious! O confine me not! (What is this that frees me so in storms? What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)
O to drink the mystic deliria deeper than any other man! O savage and tender achings! (I bequeath them to you my children, I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.)
O to be yielded to you whoever you are, and you to be yielded to me in defiance of the world! O to return to Paradise! O bashful and feminine! O to draw you to me, to plant on you for the first time the lips of a determined man.
O the puzzle, the thrice-tied knot, the deep and dark pool, all untied and illumin'd! O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last! To be absolv'd from previous ties and conventions, I from mine and you from yours! To find a new unthought-of nonchalance with the best of Nature! ​To have the gag remov'd from one's mouth! To have the feeling to-day or any day I am sufficient as I am.
O something unprov'd! something in a trance! To escape utterly from others' anchors and holds! To drive free! to love free! to dash reckless and dangerous! To court destruction with taunts, with invitations! To ascend, to leap to the heavens of the love indicated to me! To rise thither with my inebriate soul! To be lost if it must be so! To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fulness and freedom! With one brief hour of madness and joy.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Drum-Taps

* First O Songs for a Prelude
* Eighteen Sixty-One
* Beat! Beat! Drums!
* From Paumanok Starting I Fly like a Bird
* Song of the Banner at Daybreak
* Rise O Days from Your Fathomless Deeps
* Virginia—the West
* City of Ships
* The Centenarian's Story
* Cavalry Crossing a Ford
* Bivouac on a Mountain Side
* An Army Corps on the March
* By the Bivouac's Fitful Flame
* Come Up from the Fields Father
* Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night
* A March in the Ranks Hard-Prest
* A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim
* As Toilsome I Wander'd Virginia's Woods
* Not the Pilot
* Year that Trembled and Reel'd Beneath Me
* The Wound-Dresser
* Long, too Long America
* Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun
* Dirge for Two Veterans
* Over the Carnage Rose Prophetic a Voice
* I Saw Old General at Bay
* The Artilleryman's Vision
* Ethiopia Saluting the Colors
* Not Youth Pertains to Me
* Race of Veterans
* World Take Good Notice
* O Tan-Faced Prairie-Boy
* Look Down Fair Moon
* Reconciliation
* How Solemn as One by One
* As I Lay with My Head in Your Lap Camerado
* Delicate Cluster
* To A Certain Civilian
* Lo, Victress on the Peaks
* Spirit whose Work is Done
* Adieu to a Soldier
* Turn O Libertad
* To the Leaven'd Soil They Trod
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Drum-Taps/A March in the Ranks Hard-Prest

A MARCH IN THE RANKS HARD-PREST, AND THE ROAD UNKNOWN.
A march in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown, A route through a heavy wood with muffled steps in the darkness, Our army foil'd with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating, Till after midnight glimmer upon us the lights of a dim-lighted building, We come to an open space in the woods, and halt by the dim-lighted building, Tis a large old church at the crossing roads, now an impromptu hospital, Entering but for a minute I see a sight beyond all the pictures and poems ever made, Shadows of deepest, deepest black, just lit by moving candles and lamps, And by one great pitchy torch stationary with wild red flame and clouds of smoke, By these, crowds, groups of forms vaguely I see on the floor, some in the pews laid down, At my feet more distinctly a soldier, a mere lad, in danger of bleeding to death, (he is shot in the abdomen,) I stanch the blood temporarily, (the youngster's face is white as a lily,) Then before I depart I sweep my eyes o'er the scene fain to absorb it all, Faces, varieties, postures beyond description, most in obscurity, some of them dead, Surgeons operating, attendants holding lights, the smell of ether, the odor of blood, The crowd, O the crowd of the bloody forms, the yard outside also flll'd, Some on the bare ground, some on planks or stretchers, some in the death-spasm sweating, An occasional scream or cry, the doctor's shouted orders or calls, The glisten of the little steel instruments catching the glint of the torches, These I resume as I chant, I see again the forms, I smell the odor, Then hear outside the orders given, Fall in, my men, fall in; But first I bend to the dying lad, his eyes open, a half-smile gives he me, Then the eyes close, calmly close, and I speed forth to the darkness, Resuming, marching, ever in darkness marching, on in the ranks, The unknown road still marching.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Children of Adam/To The Garden the World

TO THE GARDEN THE WORLD
To the garden the world anew ascending, Potent mates, daughters, sons, preluding, The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being, Curious here behold my resurrection after slumber, The revolving cycles in their wide sweep having brought me again, Amorous, mature, all beautiful to me, all wondrous, My limbs and the quivering fire that ever plays through them, for reasons, most wondrous, Existing I peer and penetrate still, Content with the present, content with the past, By my side or back of me Eve following, Or in front, and I following her just the same.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Children of Adam/We Two, How Long We were Fool'd

WE TWO, HOW LONG WE WERE FOOL'D.
We two, how long we were fool'd, Now transmuted, we swiftly escape as Nature escapes, We are Nature, long have we been absent, but now we return, We become plants, trunks, foliage, roots, bark, We are bedded in the ground, we are rocks, We are oaks, we grow in the openings side by side, We browse, we are two among the wild herds spontaneous as any, We are two fishes swimming in the sea together, We are what locust blossoms are, we drop scent around lanes mornings and evenings, We are also the coarse smut of beasts, vegetables, minerals, We are two predatory hawks, we soar above and look down, We are two resplendent suns, we it is who balance ourselves orbic and stellar, we are as two comets, We prowl fang'd and four-footed in the woods, we spring on prey, We are two clouds forenoons and afternoons driving overhead, We are seas mingling, we are two of those cheerful waves rolling over each other and interwetting each other, We are what the atmosphere is, transparent, receptive, pervious, impervious, We are snow, rain, cold, darkness, we are each product and influence of the globe, We have circled and circled till we have arrived home again, we two, We have voided all but freedom and all but our own joy.
# Lectures on The Historians of Bohemia/Preface

PREFACE
If one thing is less known than the history of Bohemia it is the life and the works of the historians who have recorded the annals of that country. The undoubted fact that many works of ancient Bohemian writers have been lost has led to the supposition that no native records of my country except those belonging to the last century are existent. Bohemian history, as far as it has been written at all, has been mostly written on German lines; the hostility between the Slav and the Teuton, which has continued without interruption since the mythical Čechus and his Slav companions arrived in Bohemia, is a sufficient proof that records founded on the evidence of the adverse party could have little value. Palacký was the first to point out, early in the nineteenth century, that many writings of priceless value for the history of his country were still preserved in manuscript in the archives of certain Bohemian castles. It is thus that the writings of Březan Slavata and Skála ze ​Zhoře—the last-named of whom would be accounted a great historian in any country—became known, though only to a very limited extent. The history of Bohemia is perhaps one of the saddest in the world’s story. A country that for a time had been in the van of civilization became almost a desert, and suffered for centuries from political, national and ecclesiastical oppres- sion.
It is perhaps natural that those who belong to a small and little-known nation should consider it to a greater extent their duty to make their country known, than those who are citizens of a country that has world-wide fame. The words of the great historian Palacký, spoken on the occasion of his last appearance in public which I have quoted at the end of my last lecture, have long impelled me to do what little is in my power to make my country known and refute those who have endeavoured to tarnish its fame.
1 therefore owe a great debt of gratitude to my friend Prof. Morfill, who kindly suggested that I should lecture at Oxford on a subject concerning Bohemia. Nothing could be more in accord with my wishes and the interest of my country than that ​I should speak of the historians of my country in the world-famed University City that is connected with Bohemia by many ancient links. I wish also to thank the Curators of the Taylor Institution for their kindness and the facilities they have given for the publication of these lectures.
LÜTZOW.
December 10, 1904.
# Lectures on Ventilation

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
LECTURES ON VENTILATION:
BEING A COURSE DELIVERED IN THE
FRANKLIN INSTITUTE,
OF PHILADELPHIA,
DURING THE WINTER OF 1866-67
BY LEWIS W. LEEDS,
Special Agent of the Quartermaster-General, for the Ventilation of Government Hospitals during the War; and Consulting Engineer of Ventilation and Heating for the U. S. Treasury Department.
Man's own breath is his greatest enemy.
NEW YORK: JOHN WILEY & SON, PUBLISHERS, 2 CLINTON HALL, ASTOE PLACE. 1869.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by LEWIS W. LEEDS, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.
NEW YORK PRINTING COMPANY, 81, 83, and 85 Centre Street, NEW YORK.
PREFACE.
These Lectures were not originally written with any view to their publication ; but as they were afterwards requested for publication in the Journal of the Franklin Institute, and there attracted very favorable notice, I believed the rapidly increasing interest in the subject of ventilation would enable the publishers to sell a sufficient number to pay the expense of their publication ; and, if so, that this very spirit of inquiry which would lead to the perusal of even so small a work, might be one step forward towards that much-needed more general education on this important subject.
It was not my desire to give an elaborate treatise on the subject of ventilation. I believed a few general principles, illustrated in a familiar way, would be much more likely to be read ; and, I hoped, would act as seed-grain in commencing the growth of an inquiry which, when once started in the right direction, would soon discover the condition of the air we breathe to be of so much importance that the investigation would be eagerly pursued.
CONTENTS.
LECTURE I.
LECTURE II.
LECTURE III.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1822/Funeral

​78
Literary Gazette, 16th November, 1822, Pages 728
ORIGINAL POETRY.
FRAGMENTS IN RHYME.
I.—The Soldier's Funeral.
And the muffled drum rolled on the air, Warriors with stately step were there; On every arm was the black crape bound, Every carbine was turned to the ground: Solemn the sound of their measured tread, As silent and slow they followed the dead. The riderless horse was led in the rear, There were white plumes waving over the bier: Helmet and sword were laid on the pall, For it was a Soldier's funeral.—  That soldier had stood on the battle-plain, Where every step was over the slain; But the brand and the ball had pass'd him by, And he came to his native land to die. 'Twas hard to come to that native land, And not clasp one familiar hand! 'Twas hard to be numbered amid the dead, Or ere he could hear his welcome said! But 'twas something to see its cliffs once more, And to lay his bones on his own loved shore; To think that the friends of his youth might weep O'er the green grass turf of the soldier's sleep!  The bugles ceased their wailing sound As the coffin was lowered into the ground; A volley was fired, a blessing said, One moment's pause—and they left the dead!— I saw a poor and an aged man, His step was feeble, his lip was wan: He knelt him down on the new-raised mound, His face was bowed on the cold damp ground, He raised his head, his tears were done,— The father had prayed o'er his only Son!
* ↑ This poem appears later in The Improvisatrice and Other Poems (1824)
* ↑ signature after subsequent poem
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1822/Love's Last Words

​34
Literary Gazette, 29th June, 1822, Page 410
2. LOVE'S LAST WORDS.
Light be around thee, hope be thy guide;
Gay be thy bark, and smooth be the tide;
Soft be the wind that beareth thee on,
Sweet be thy welcome, thy wanderings done.
Bright be the hearth, may the eyes you love best
Greet the long-absent again to his rest;
Be thy life like glad music which floateth away
As the gale lingering over the rose-tree in May.
But yet while thy moments in melody roll,
Be one dark remembrance left on thy soul,
Be the song of the evening thrice sad on thine ear—
Then think how your twilights were past away here.
And yet let the shadow of sorrowing be
Light as the dream of the morning to thee!
One fond, faint recollection, one last sigh of thine
May be granted to love so devoted as mine!
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1822/For Music

​35
Literary Gazette, 29th June, 1822, Page 410
3. FOR MUSIC.
Thou art looking on the face of night, my love! Is not yon evening star bright, my love? Methinks it is A world of bliss
For spirits all softness and light, my love !
This earth is so chilled with care, my dear!
Would we might wing our flight there, my dear! For love to blaze With the cloudless rays
It would have in a world so fair, my dear!
But my wish to visit that star, dear love!
Is vain as my other hopes are, dear love! For my heart's wild sigh Of idolatry
Breathes with thee like that planet afar, dear love! L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1822/Love-Letter

​79
Literary Gazette, 16th November, 1822, Pages 728
II. - Lines written under a Picture of a Girl burning a Love-letter.
The lines were fill'd with many a tender thing, All the impassion'd heart's fond communing.
I took the scroll: I could not brook  An eye to gaze on it save mine; I could not bear another's look  Should dwell upon one thought of thine. My lamp was burning by my side,  I held thy letter to the flame, I mark'd the blaze swift o'er it glide,  It did not even spare thy name. Soon the light from the embers past,  I felt so sad to see it die, So bright at first, so dark at last,  I fear'd it was love's history.
* ↑ This poem appears in The Improvisatrice and Other Poems (1824)
* ↑ signature after subsequent poem
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1822/Dagley

Literary Gazette, 27th July, 1822, Page 477
Advertisement
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1822/Emerald

​103
Literary Gazette, 28th December, 1822, Page 825 (cont.)
XI. —The Emerald Ring—a Superstition.
It is a gem which hath the power to show
If plighted lovers keep their faith or no:
If faithful, it is like the leaves of spring;
If faithless, like those leaves when withering.
 Take back again your emerald gem,
 There is no colour in the stone;
 It might have graced a diadem,
 But now its hue and light are gone!
 Take back your gift, and give me mine—
 The kiss that sealed our last love vow;
 Ah, other lips have been on thine,—
 My kiss is lost and sullied now!
 The gem is pale, the kiss forgot,
 And, more than either, you are changed;
 But my true love has altered not,
 My heart is broken—not estranged! L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1822/Love touching the Horns of a Snail, which is shrinking from his hand

​39
Literary Gazette, 3rd August 1822, Page 487
ORIGINAL POETRY.
Sketches from Designs by Mr. Dagley.
Sketch the Second.
Love touching the Horns of a Snail, which is shrinking from his hand.
Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible,
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails.
Oh, you have wronged me!—but, or e'er I tell
How deep I feel the injury, I will
One moment linger o'er the things which were
Precious as happiness; I will just say,
For the last time, how I have loved you! All
My hopes in life dwelt with you, for you were
The centre of existence; all I said.
Or did, or thought, had reference to you.
I would have shared the bleakest poverty
With you, and only sorrowed for your sake;
I would have given up all the world could give
Of pleasure for you—and your kiss, your smile
To me had been light, mirth, and revelry.
You had my soul's first incense, for my heart
Had never darkened with love's conscious shadow,
Till you did set your image like a seal
Upon its every fibre. Oh, I could
Have borne with open shame, with pain, with toil;
Have drained the veriest dregs of bitterness—
But cannot bear unkindness and neglect.
Thrice venomed is the wound when 'tis Love's hand
Inflicts the blow. Look on this picture—here
Are all my feelings imaged! Mark how soon,
How sensitive that creature shrinks away
From Love's rude touch, within its own calm home.
‘Tis thus my soul's revealings have been checked,
And forced to shrink within themselves again,
And I might envy even that "cockled" Snail:
It will find in its shell a quiet rest—
But when my feelings turn unto the heart
That sent them forth, what will they find there but
A desert, where the too impassioned past
Has left deep fiery traces! L. E. L.