OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) from Flowers of Loveliness, 1838/The Pansy

* PANSEY
* Artist K. MeadowsEngraver W. H. Mote
From the New Yorker, 20th October, 1838, page 69
Flowers......BY L . E. L.
THE PANSY.*
'A little purple flower, And maidens call it Love in Idleness.'Shakspeare.
His name is on the haunted flower,  Linked with those dreams that came In Inspiration’s lovely hour,  Whose memory is Fame. He saw that flower when he was young,  Alike in life and heart, And round it those sweet fancies flung  That never more depart.
A thousand blossoms bloom and die  Upon their mother Earth, Unnoticed in their transient sigh,  Forgotten in their birth; But when the Poet’s heart has cast  Its own deep beauty there, The shadow of the charmed Past  Makes every leaf more fair.
The Poet and the Flower repay  What each the other yields; He loiters on his twilight way,  Amid the summer fields, Delighting in the lovely things  That round his pathway gleam While over them his spirit flings  A music and a dream.
He of the Avon’s gentle wave  Was conscious of his power; Was he not happy, when he gave  His fancy to that flower, And left a vision of delight  Amid its folded leaves?— A vision delicate and bright,  Which every heart receives.
His lot was what the Poet’s lot  Has ever been on earth; Yet toil and trouble were forgot  In one enchanted birth. That little purple flower imparts  A pleasure deep and true; Then he bequeaths to other hearts  The joy that first he knew.
——————— * Illustrating a fanciful picture of a youthful poet.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) from Flowers of Loveliness, 1838/To Victoria

The opening poem as it appears in the review in The Literary Gazette, 21st October 1837
"To Victoria.
Violet, grace of the vernal year!  Offer'd be thou to this spring-like reign!  Is not thy tint to that ladye dear,  Whose banner of blue is the lord of the main?
Ivy we twine of changeless green,  Constant for ever in leaf and bough;  So may the heart of our maiden queen  Be always verdant and fresh as now.
Carnation, laced with many a streak  Of blooming red on its leaflets bright,  May be a type of her mantling cheek,  Blent with a brow of pearly white.
Tansy, though humble an herb it be,  Look not upon it with scornful eye;  On virtue, that lurks in low degree,  A glance should fall kind from those on high.
Olive, thy branch, dove-borne o'er the foam,  Was a sign for the surges of death to cease;  So, from the lips of our dove should come  The soft but the sure command of peace.
Roses of England, ceasing from fight,  Twine round her brow in whose veins are met  The princely blood those roses unite  'In the veins of the noblest Plantagenet.'
Iris, to thee, the maid of the bow,  That promises hope, her name has given;  Join, then, the wreath at her feet we throw,  Who beams as a symbol of hope from heaven.
Anemone, flower of the wind! is the last
 We cull,—and our garland is now complete:  Gentle the current, and soft be the blast,  Which Victoria, the queen of the ocean, shall meet!"
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Death’s Doings/The Pilgrim

THE PILGRIM
THE PILGRIM.
And Palmer, grey Palmer, by Galilee's wave, Oh! saw you Count Albert, the gentle and brave, When the crescent waxed faint, and the red cross rushed on, Oh! saw you him foremost on Mount Lebanon.
The ladye sat in her lonely tower,— She woke not her lute, she touched not a flower; Though the lute wooed her hand with its silver string, And the roses were rich with the wealth of spring: But she thought not of them, for her heart was afar, It was with her knight in the Holy war.
She look’d in the west;—it was not to see The crimson and gold of the sky and sea, Lighted alike by the setting sun, As rather that day than night were begun;
But it was that a star was rising there, Like a diamond set in the purple air, The natal star of her own true knight— No marvel the maiden watched its light: At their parting hour they bade it be Their watch and sign of fidelity.
Amid the rich and purple crowd That throng the west, is a single cloud, Differing from all around, it sails, The cradle of far other gales Than the soft and southern airs, which bring But the dew and the flower-sigh on their wing; Like some dark spirit's shadowy car, It floats on and hides that lovely star, While the rest of the sky is bright and clear, The sole dark thing in the hemisphere.
But the maiden had turned from sea and sky, To gaze on the winding path, where her eye A pilgrim's distant form had scann'd: He is surely one of the sacred band Who seek their heavenly heritage By prayer and toil and pilgrimage! She staid not to braid her raven hair,— Loose it flow'd on the summer air;
She took no heed of her silvery veil,— Her cheek might be kiss'd by the sun or the gale: She saw but the scroll in the pilgrim's hand, And the palm-branch that told of the Holy Land.
L. E. L.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Death’s Doings/The Warrior

* THE WARRIOR
THE WARRIOR.
It came upon the morning wind  One loud and thrilling tone, And distant hills sent forth their voice,—  The trumpet-call was blown.
And sterner grew each stately brow  As that war-blast pass'd by, And redder grew each warrior cheek,  Brighter each warrior eye.
But other cheeks grew pale to hear,  And other eyes grew dim; Woman shares not man's battle joy—  That joy is all for him.
The same blast lights the glance of flame,  Darkens the martial frown; At which a woman's rose-lip fades,—  At which her heart sinks down.
Proudly that trumpet sweeps thy hills,  Land of the sword and shrine, It calls the soldier of the cross  To fight for Palestine.
It roused one tent, which stood apart  Within the barrier made By many a green and creeping shrub  And one tall palm-tree's shade.
It roused a warrior and his bride—  His bride! What doth she there? Oh, rather ask, when led by love,  What will not woman dare?
Said I, her timid nature was  Like her cheek's timid hue; But fearful though that nature be,  She hath her courage too.
Go ask the fever couch, the cell  Of guilt; she hath no part In courage of the head and hand,  She hath that of the heart.
'Tis this has brought that gentle one  From her fair Provence bower, Where in her husband's halls she dwelt,  Nurs'd like a lovely flower.
That trumpet-call, it roused them both  From a sweet dream of home, Roused him to hopes that with such sound  To gallant spirits come.
And she,—at least she hid the fears  That clouded her fair brow,— Her prayers had guarded him in fight,  Might they not guard him now?
She armed him, though her trembling hand  Shook like a leaf the while;— The battle had his onward glance,  But she his lingering smile.
She brought the blue and broidered scarf,  Her colours for his breast; But what dark dreary shape has brought  His helm and plumed crest?
Fell shade! they see, they heed thee not,  Thou of the noiseless wing, The viewless shaft, the sudden call—  O Death, here is thy sting.
The lips would close in pious hope,  The eyes in willing sleep, But for the tears, the bitter tears,  That love is left to weep.
'Tis evening—and the blood-red west  Has not so deep a red, As hath that slaughter-field where lie  The dying and the dead.
'Tis midnight—and the clang of steel,  The human shout and cry, Are silent as if sleep and peace  Were upon earth and sky.
The strife is past like other storms,  Soldier and chief are gone, Yet lightly falls a woman's step—  What doth she there alone?
'Tis she! the Provence Rose; oh, well  Such name beseems her now, The pale and stony dead around  Wear not more ghastly brow.
Woe for her search—too soon she finds  Her valiant knight laid low; Thou fatal helm, thou hast betrayed  His head to the life-blow.
One blasting gaze—one loud wild shriek,—  She sinks upon his breast: O Death! thou hast been merciful,—  For both, both are at rest.
L. E. L.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Finden’s Gallery of the Graces (1834)

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Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) In Finden’s Gallery of the Graces (1834)
Compiled By Peter J. Bolton
Contents
| Title | Origin |
| The Young Olympia | The Rose, in The Golden Violet |
| The Ladye Adeline | The Troubadour |
| The Fair Patrician | Portrait of a Lady. By Sir Thomas Lawrence |
| The Maid of Lismore | The Upper Lake of Killarney |
| Erinna | Erinna |
| A Pleasant Memory | Poetical Portrait II |
| Emily | |
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 1/Farewell thou little Nook

IV.
COMPOSED IN THE YEAR 1802.
Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain-ground, Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair Of that magnificent Temple which doth bound One side of our whole Vale with grandeur rare; Sweet Garden-orchard, eminently fair, The loveliest spot that man hath ever found, Farewell!—we leave thee to heaven's peaceful care, Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround.
Our Boat is safely anchored by the shore, And safely she will ride when we are gone; The flowering shrubs that decorate our door Will prosper, though untended and alone: Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none; These narrow bounds contain our private store Of things earth makes and sun doth shine upon; Here are they in our sight—we have no more.
​Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell, For two months now in vain we shall be sought; We leave you here in solitude to dwell With these our latest gifts of tender thought; Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat Bright gowan, and marsh-marygold, farewell! Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought, And placed together near our rocky well.
We go for One to whom ye will be dear; And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed, Our own contrivance, Building without peer, A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred, Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered! With joyousness and with a thoughtful cheer She'll come to you,—to you herself will wed,— And love the blessed life which we lead here.
Dear Spot! which we have watched with tender heed, Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown Among the distant mountains, flower and weed Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own, ​Making all kindness register'd and known; Thou for our sakes, though Nature's Child indeed, Fair in thyself and beautiful alone, Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need.
And O most constant, yet most fickle Place, That hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost shew To them who look not daily in thy face; Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know, And say'st when we forsake thee, "Let them go!" Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow,— And travel with the year at a soft pace.
Help us to tell her tales of years gone by, And this sweet spring the best beloved and best. Joy will be flown in its mortality; Something must stay to tell us of the rest. Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast Glitter'd at evening like a starry sky; And in this Bush our Sparrow built her nest, Of which I sung one Song that will not die.
​O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep Hath been so friendly to industrious hours; And to soft slumbers that did gently steep Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers; Two burning months let summer overleap, And, coming back with Her who will be ours, Into thy bosom we again shall creep.
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 1/Extract from a Poem on leaving School

JUVENILE PIECES.
EXTRACT
FROM THE CONCLUSION OF A POEM,
Composed upon leaving School.
Dear native Regions, I foretell From what I feel at this farewell, That, wheresoe'er my steps shall tend, And whensoe'er my course shall end, If in that hour a single tie Survive of local sympathy, My soul will cast the backward view, The longing look alone on you.
Thus, when the Sun, prepared for rest, Hath gained the precincts of the West, Though his departing radiance fail To illuminate the hollow Vale, A lingering light he fondly throws On the dear Hills where first he rose.
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 12/April 1878/Sketch of Professor Secchi

Layout 4
P. ANGELO SECCHI.
* SKETCH OF PROFESSOR SECCHI.
THIS distinguished Italian physicist and astronomer died on the 26th of February. Pietro Angelo Secchi was born in Reggio, in Emilia, July 29, 1818. He was educated for the Church, and joined the order of the Jesuits November 3, 1833. He studied mathematics, physics, and astronomy, under Padre de Vico, and taught physics in the college of Loreto from 1841 to 1843. In 1844 he began his course of theology in the Roman College, and in 1848 came to the United States, and pursued his theological studies, at the same time teaching physics and mathematics, in the Georgetown College, District of Columbia. There he remained until 1850, when he was recalled to Rome.
He now entered upon his public career as an astronomer and physicist. He was appointed Director of the Observatory of the Roman College, reconstructed it on a new site and plan, invented and perfected an improved system of meteorological observation, published a monthly bulletin, which was continued until 1873, and invented and constructed a meteorograph, which was much admired by savants at the Paris Exhibition of 1867.
Prof. Secchi was commissioned by Pope Pius IX. to complete the trigonometrical survey of the Papal States, begun by Boscovitch in 1851, and to rectify the measurements already made of the meridional arc. He also superintended and executed successfully a commission to bring a supply of water to Rome from Frosinone, forty-eight miles distant. After the closing of the Roman College, and the expulsion of the Jesuits (1870-73), Prof. Secchi was allowed to retain his post, and continued to lecture on astronomy in the ecclesiastical schools at Rome. In 1875 he was sent by the Italian Government on a scientific mission to Sicily.
Prof. Secchi was a man of great industry, and cultivated the astronomical field assiduously. The results of his scientific labors will be found chronicled in the periodicals of Italy, France, Germany, and England, and the "Smithsonian Contributions to Knowledge" in this country. But he is especially known in the scientific world for his researches and discoveries in spectroscopic analysis, and in solar and stellar physics. Among the most important of these are his "Spectrum Observations on the Rotation of the Sun," published in 1870. The same year he printed a large work on the sun, which was highly regarded, and immediately translated into French and German. His last considerable publication is a popular book on "The Stars," contributed to the Italian branch of the "International Scientific Series."
# Poems upon Several Occasions/9

OF the rude Indians, artless and untaught, So brightest Jewels are with Trifles bought: Deceiv’d Ixion's Fate revers’d is show’d, Imperial Juno given for a Cloud.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/The British Enchanters

THE
British Enchanters;
OR,
No Magick like Love.
A
Dramatick Poem.
As it was Acted
At the QUEEN's Theatre in the Hay-Market,
BY
Her Majesty's Servants.
Printed in the Year MDCCXXVI.
page
Advertisement to the Reader.
UPON the Separation of the Houses, when Musical Performances were confin'd to one Theatre, and Dramatick to the other, it became necessary to lengthen the Representation of the ensuing Poem with several Alterations and Additions, and some entire new Scenes, to fill up the Spaces occasion'd by the Necessity of leaving out the Mixture of Musical Entertainment. Which Additions are herewith Printed, having never been Publish'd before.
page
* Prologue
* Dramatis Personæ
* Act I
* Act II
* Act III
* Act IV
* Act V
# Poems upon Several Occasions/Advert

TATLERS, Four Vol. Spectators, Eight Vol. Guardians, Two Vol. Englishman, and Lovers.
Steeel's Ecclesiastical History.
Stanyan's Account of Swisserland.
The Works of Mr. William Shakespear, in Six vol. adorn'd with Cuts; revis'd and corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author, by N. Rowe, Esq;
The Works of Mr. Francis Beaumont, and Mr. John Fletcher, in Seven Vol. adorn'd with Cuts; revis'd and corrected, with some Account of the Life and Writings of the Authors.
The Works of Mr. William Congreve, in Three vol. containing his Plays and Poems, some of which were never before publish'd.
The Works of Sir George Etherage, containing his Plays and Poems.
The Works of Mr. Abraham Cowley, in Two vol. consisting of those which were formerly printed, and those which he design'd for the Press, publish'd out of the Author's Original Copies, with the Cutter of Coleman-street. The Twelfth Edition.
Miscellany Poems, in Six vol. containing Variety of new Translations of the ancient Poets; together with several Original Poems: By the most Eminent Hands.
Poems and Translations; with the Sophy, a Tragedy. Written by the Honourable Sir John Denham, Knt. of the Bath; the Fifth Edition.
​The Works of Sir John Suckling; containing his Poems, Letters and Plays.
Ovid's Epistles, translated by several Hands. The Eighth Edition; with a new Translation of three Epistles, and several Cuts never before publish'd.
Ovid's Art of Love in three Books, together with his Remedy of Love; translated into English Verse by several Hands: To which is added the Court of Love, a Tale from Chaucer; and the History of Love; adorn'd with Cuts.
The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis, and of Aulus Persus Flaccus; translated into English Verse by Mr. Dryden, and several other eminent Hands; to which is prefix'd a Discourse concerning the Original and Progress of Satyr. The Fifth Edition, adorn'd with Sculptures.
Poems, &c. written upon several Occasions, and to several Persons, by Edmund Waller, Esq; The Eighth Edition, with Additions; to which is prefix'd the Author's Life.
The Poetical Works of Mr. John Milton, containing Paradise Lost, Paradise Regain'd, Samson Agonistes, and his Poems on several Occasions, in two Vols.
Poems by the most deservedly admired Mrs. Katharine Philips, the matchless Orinda; to which are added Mr. Corneille's Tragedies of Pompey and Horace, with several other Translations out of French.
Poems on several Occasions; with Valentinian a Tragedy. Written by the Right Honourable John late Earl of Rochester.
Poems on several Occasions, by Mr. Prior.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/The British Enchanters/Dramatis Personae

Dramatis Personæ.
MEN. :
| Celius, King of Britain, Father to Oriana. | | Mr. Betterton. |
| Constantius, Emperor of Rome, in Love with Oriana. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | Mr. Booth. |
| Amadis, a famous Knight-Adventurer, in Love with Oriana, and belov'd by her. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | Mr. Verbruggen. |
| Florestan, Companion to Amadis, in Love with Corisanda. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | Mr. Husbands. |
| Lucius, a Roman. | | |
| Arcalaus, an Enchanter, Enemy to Amadis. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | Mr. Bowman. |
| WOMEN. |||
| Arcabon, an Enchantress, Sister to Arcalaus. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | Mrs. Barry. |
| Oriana. | | Mrs. Bracegirdle. |
| Corisanda. | | Mrs. Porter. |
| Urganda, a good Enchantress. | | Mrs. Bowman. |
| Delia, her Attendant. | | Mrs. Baker. |
| Officers and Guards attending Celius; Romans attending Constantius; Ladies attending Oriana; Attendants to the several Enchanters; Knights and Ladies Captives; Singers and Dancers. |||
The SCENE in BRITAIN
# Poems upon Several Occasions/The British Enchanters/Prologue

PROLOGUE.
POETS, by observation, find it true; 'Tis harder much to please themselves, than You: To Weave a Plot, to Work, or to Refine A labour'd Scene, to Polish ev'ry Line, Judgment must sweat, and feel a Mother's Pains: Vain Fools! thus to disturb and rack their Brains: When, more indulgent to the Writer's Ease, You are too good to be so hard to please: No such convulsive Pangs it will require, To write the pretty Things that you admire.
Our Author then, to please you in your Way, Presents you now a Bawble of a Play, In jingling Rhime, well fortify'd and strong, He fights entrench'd, o'er Head and Ears, in Song, If here and there some evil-fated Line Should chance, thro' Inadvertency, to shine, Forgive him, Beaux, he means you no Offence, $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ But begs you, for the Love of Song and Dance, To pardon all the Poetry and Sense.
# Poems and Baudelaire Flowers/Hymn to Beauty

HYMN TO BEAUTY
Comest thou from high heaven or from the abyss, O Beauty? For thy look, hellish, divine, Is fraught with mingled misery and bliss (Wherefore thy soul is as the soul of wine).
Within thine eye red dawn and sunset burn; Odours thou spread’st as stormy evenings; Thy kisses are a draught, thy mouth an urn To make men quail and babes do mighty things.
From the dark gulf, or from the immortal stars? The charmèd Demon follows like a hound; Thou rul’st with hand that careless makes or mars, Nor to our prayers vouchsafest any sound.
Thou walkest over dead men, mocking them, Beauty! and horror decks the throat of thee, And glittering murder, thy most precious gem, On thy proud belly dances amorously.
Toward thee, flame, the dazzled insect flies, Shrivels and cries, “Blest conqueror of gloom!” Upon his fair one’s breast the lover lies, As ’twere a dying man who hugs his tomb.
Naïve, terrible form! what boots it sky or pit, O beauty! if thine eye, smile, foot, alone Can open me the gate of an infinite My soul’s athirst for, and has never known?
What boots it, seraph or siren, from God’s height
Or Satan’s hell, O queen! if thou dost come Soft-eyed, to make, with rhythm, scent, and light, The world less dull and time less burdensome?
# Poems and Baudelaire Flowers/Ill-Luck

ILL-LUCK
O Sisyphus, thy strength were meet A load so heavy to sustain; The soul for work is very fain, But Art is long, and Time is fleet.
Towards a lonely cemetery From all famed sepulchres apart, Like to a muffled drum my heart Beats funeral marches ceaselessly.
Jewels many and many a one Lie hid in dark oblivion Far, far from pick or plummet’s ken;
Many sweet flowers’ scented breath Is lavished till they fade in death In solitudes untrod by men.
# Poems and Baudelaire Flowers/Le Revenant

LE REVENANT
Like the mild-eyed angels sweet I will come to thy retreat, Stealing in without a sound When the shades of night close round.
I will give thee manifold Kisses soft and moony-cold, Gliding, sliding o’er thee like A serpent crawling round a dike.
When the livid morn creeps on You will wake and find me gone Till the evening come again.
As by tenderness and ruth Others rule thy life and youth, I by terror choose to reign.
# Poems and Baudelaire Flowers/Evening

EVENING
Long lines of quiet rooks Winging to their rest Over where the pines are dark ’Gainst the yellow West.
Gleaming pool and brown moor, Stone, and bush, and tree Slowly in the utter peace Fade from you and me.
Ah! leave your hand in mine Till the last light dies; Thus… for ever… Nay, love, Tears in your eyes?