OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems and Baudelaire Flowers/La Chevelure

LA CHEVELURE
O billows flowing o’er the shoulders bare! O curls! O perfume sweet beyond belief! Here in this bower to people the night air With all the memories sleeping in this hair I long to shake it like a handkerchief!
Fierce Afric and the languorous Orient, All a vast world, distant, nay, almost dead, Within this aromatic wood is pent; My soul beloved floats upon thy scent As other souls have music for a bed.
I will go out where full-veined man and tree Swoon daylong in the sultry summer’s heat— Strong tresses be the barque which carries me: Thou boldest a bright dream, O ebon sea, Of sails, flames, rowers, on a splendid fleet;
A harbour where through every sense are rolled Vast sweeping waves of perfume, sound, and hue, Where vessels gliding over moire and gold Stretch up great arms to heaven to enfold The glory of the everlasting blue.
There waits for me delicious drunkenness In this dark sea which holds those other seas; My spirit in the gentle main’s caress
Shall know once more the old rich idleness, Infinite rockings of embalmèd ease.
Ah! dark-blue, streaming banner of the night, You bring me back those azure skies afar, Plunged in your silken folds my soul takes flight And drinks once more with measureless delight The scent of cocoa-oil and musk and tar.
For ever I will scatter in each strand, That thou may’st never turn deaf ears to me, Rubies, pearls, sapphires with a lavish hand. . . . . Thou art the well-spring in a desert land Wherefrom I quaff deep draughts of memory.
# Poems and Baudelaire Flowers/De Profundis Clamavi

DE PROFUNDIS CLAMAVI
O my sole love, I pray thee pity me From out this dark gulf where my poor heart lies A barren world hemmed in by leaden skies Where horror flies at night, and blasphemy.
For half the year the sickly sun is seen, The other half thick night lies on the land, A country bleaker than the polar strand; No beasts, no brooks, nor any shred of green.
There never was a horror which surpassed This icy sun’s cold cruelty, and this vast Night like primæval Chaos; would I were
Like the dumb brutes, who in a secret lair Lie wrapt in stupid slumber for a space. . . . The time creeps at so burdensome a pace.
# Poems and Baudelaire Flowers/Lassitude

LASSITUDE
The room is filled full of the peace of night, The small flames murmur and flicker and sway, Within me is neither shadow, nor light, Nor night, nor twilight, nor dawn, nor day.
For the brain strives not to the goal of thought, And the limbs lie wearied, and all desire Sleeps for a while, and I am naught But a pair of eyes that gaze at a fire.
# Poems and Baudelaire Flowers/Esquisse

ESQUISSE
Slow rollers sweeping to the beach, The shoremost brilliant in the moon; Two lovers clinging each to each, Knowing they must be parted soon.
Poor souls that strive in vain to think Of hope, though thought of hope were vain, Poor shadowed hearts that dumbly shrink The anguish of a lonely pain!
Ah! sad beyond all power of speech That Life and life are out of tune. . . . The shoremost roller on the beach Breaks and is snow-white in the moon.
# Poems and Baudelaire Flowers/Fin-de-Siècle

FIN-DE-SIÈCLE
You say the meadow-grass is green, You say the heavens are blue, The birds sing free on every tree; All this is very true, No doubt— But what of me and you?
But what of you and me? Ah, yes— “About an even chance!” Methinks, dear soul, upon the whole
God leads us a merry dance. I’ faith, God leads us a merry dance.
# Poems and Baudelaire Flowers/Elevation

ELEVATION
Above the valleys and above the meres, The mountains and the woods, the clouds, the seas, Beyond the sun and ether distances, Beyond the confines of the starry spheres,
Swiftly, my spirit, thou dost hold thy flight, And, as one swoons with joy on the sea’s breast, Those calm eternal deeps thou furrowest With an ineffable and strong delight.
Leave far beneath thy feet these pestilent places To bathe in upper air, and quench desire With unpolluted draughts of that clear fire Which fills the luminous and limpid spaces.
O happy who can cast aside his chains, The heavy load of grief and weariness, And, winging from this misty wilderness, Can set his eyes on those far-shining plains!
Whose lark-like thoughts, with bright, untrammelled wings, Spring upward when the morning skies are clear; Who soars o’er life, and effortless can hear The secret speech of flowers and dumb things!
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 30

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# Poets of John Company/Ode to a Punkah

JAMES ATKINSON
1784—1852.
Ode to a Punkah.
Punkah! thou long hast merited an ode, Giving thyself, as well as others airs; Thou swing'st aloft in every man's abode, As if in scorn of him and his affairs; Viewing him, "grunt and sweat," as Shakespeare says, (Coarse language, used in ancient days.) Still puffing on. Whilst he cries "Aura Veni"—breezes, come! But soon a rush of heat alters his tone. And "zor se tan" re-echoes through the room. Then fringed or unfringed dost thou fly, Jerk'd back and forward by old Doss, The bearer. Straight, and now awry; Croaking on plaintive hooks the beams across, Tortured by many an awkward pull, And threatening to come down, and split thy master's skull!
Punkah! 'tis thine to bless Man, sick or well; Thou soother of distress, Who can thy virtues tell?
When a cold glass of soda water throws The skin into a bath, and smarting glows The prickly heat, thy wonderous power Checks the distracting itch in half an hour. On couch recumbent rolls the invalid; Thermometer at ninety, ninety-five, Yellow as saffron, and the heat, indeed. Too hot by far for any thing alive. What is there then to give a moment's ease? Nothing in all the world but thy refreshing breeze.
Leaf of the palm wert thou. Primitive punkah! and thy form is still The same with Mussulman, and eke Hindoo, Moved in the hand at will. In the closed harem cross-legged sit the wives Of Rajahs and Moghuls, paun ever chewing; And with the leaf of palm Fanning themselves, they whiff the balm Of hookahs, still the stimulus renewing. And thus 'midst smoke and paun they pass their lazy lives. But European taste Suspends thee high; And thou art most commodiously placed. Not to disturb the eye. Whilst the luxurious Soldier or Civilian Quaffs blushing Lai beneath thy breezy swing. And gulps factitious airs—which drive a million Muskeetos from him. buzzing on the wing. Refreshing flapper! influence divine! Prime relisher of feasts—unmeasured praise be thine!
Punkah I thou cooler of the fever's heat; Dryer of floods that inundate the skin; Teaching the pulse more temperately to beat,
And keeping sickness out, and health within; Thou art a blessing in this nether sphere; Without thee, what would man do here— In this o'erpowering land of cloudless sun?
Why, faith! his hot career would soon be done. Even now his skin is often like a sheet Of parchment, crisp and brown, and wo-begone; Without thee, then would he not be, by heat, Par-boiled, and grilled, and roasted to the bone?
And yet I am the very first, To give thee, Punkah, fitting praise; In all thy cheering virtues versed, I consecrate to thee my lays. Oh! I love to write about thee, For I cannot breathe without thee!
# Poets of John Company/Ode to an Indian Gold Coin

JOHN LEYDEN.
1775—1811.
Ode to an Indian Gold Coin.
Slave of the dark and dirty mine! What vanity has brought thee here? How can I love to see thee shine So bright, whom I have bought so dear? The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear For twilight-converse, arm in arm; The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear When mirth and music wont to charm.
By Cherical's dark wandering streams, Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild. Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams Of Teviot lov'd while still a child, Of castled rocks stupendous pil'd By Esk or Eden's classic wave. Where loves of youth and friendships smil'd, Uncurs'd by thee, vile yellow slave!
Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade! The perish'd bliss of youth's first prime.
That once so bright on fancy play'd. Revives no more in after-time, Far from my sacred natal clime, I haste to an untimely grave; The daring thoughts that soar'd sublime Are sunk in ocean's southern wave.
Slave of the mine! thy yellow light Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear— A gentle vision comes by night My lonely widow'd heart to cheer; Her eyes are dim with many a tear. That once wer& guiding stars to mine: Her fond heart throbs with many a fear— I cannot bear to see thee shine.
For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, I left a heart that lov'd me true I I cross'd the tedious ocean-wave, To roam in climes unkind and new. The cold wind of the stranger blew Chill on my wither'd heart:—the grave Dark and untimely met my view— And all for thee, vile yellow slave!
Ha! com'st thou now so late to mock A wanderer's banish'd heart forlorn, Now that his frame the lightning shock Of sun-rays tipt with death has borne? From love, from friendship, country, torn, To memory's fond regrets the prey, Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn— Go, mix thee with thy kindred clay!
# Poets of John Company/On a Station in Lower Bengal

On a Station in Lower Bengal.
Our church as at present it stands Has no congregation, nor steeple; The lands are all low-lying lands And the people are low lying people.
# Poets of John Company/Lines Written on the Death of Leyden

SIR JOHN MALCOLM.
1769-1833.
Lines Written on the Death of Leyden, 1811.
Where sleep the brave on Java strand, Thy ardent spirit, Leyden! fled; And Fame with cypress shades the land, Where Genius fell, and Valour bled.
When triumph's tale is westward borne, On Border-Hills no joys shall gleam; And thy lov'd Teviot long shall mourn The youthful minstrel of her stream.
Near Jura's rocks the Mermaid's strain Shall change from glad to solemn lay; For he is gone, the youthful swain, Who sung the Maid of Colonsay.
The hardy Tar, Britannia's pride. Shall hang his manly head in woe; The Bard who told how Nelson died. With harp unstrung, in earth lies low.
I see a weeping band arise, I hear sad music on the gale; Thy dirge is sung from Scotia's skies. Her mountain sons their loss bewail.
The Minstrel of thy native North Pours all his soul into the song; It bursts from near the winding Forth, And Highland rocks the notes prolong.
Yes! he who struck a matchless lyre O'er Flodden's field and Katrine's wave, With trembling hand now leads the choir That mourns his Leyden's early grave.
# Poets of John Company/On the Abolition of Sattee

HENRY DEROZIO.
1809–1831.
On the Abolition of Sattee.
Red from his chambers came the morning sun
And frowned, dark Ganges, on thy fatal 'shore.
Journeying on high; but when the day was done
He set in smiles, to rise in blood no more.
Hark! heard ye not? the widow's wail is over;
No more the flames from impious pyres ascend.
See Mercy, now primeval peace restore.
While pagans glad the arch ethereal rend,
For India hails at last, her father and her friend.
Back to its cavern ebbs the tide of crime.
There fettered, locked, and powerless it sleeps;
And History bending o'er the page of time.
Where many a mournful record still she keeps,
The widowed Hindoo's fate no longer weeps;
The priestly tyrant's cruel charm is broken.
And to his den alarmed the monster creeps;
The charm that mars his mystic spell is broken.
O'er all the land 'tis spread: he trembles at the token.
Bentinck, be thine the everlasting meed!
The heart's full homage still is virtue's claim.
And 'tis the good man's ever honoured deed
Which gives an immortality to fame:
Transient and fierce, though dazzling is the flame
That glory lights upon the wastes of war:
Nations unborn shall venerate thy name,
A triumph than the conqueror's mightier far,
Thy memory shall be blessed as is the morning star.
He is the friend of man who breaks the seal The despot custom sets in deed and thought, He labours generously for human weal Who holds the omnipotence of fear as naught; The winged mind will not to earth be brought, 'Twill sink to clay if it imprisoned be; For 'tis with high immortal longings fraught. And these are dimmed or quenched eternally, Until it feels the hand that sets its pinions free.
And woman hath endured, and still endures Wrong, which her weakness and her woes should shield, The slave and victim of the treacherous lures Which wily arts, to man, the tyrant yield: And here the sight of star, or flower, or field; Or bird that journeys through the sunny air, Or social bliss from woman has been sealed, To her, the sky is dark, the earth is bare.
And Heaven's most hallowed breath pronounced forbidden fare.
But with prophetic ken, dispelling fears Which haunt the mind that dwells on nature's plan. The Bard beholds through mists of coming years A rising spirit speaking peace to man, The storm is passing, and the Rainbow's span Stretcheth from North to South: the ebon car
Of darkness rolls away: the breezes fan The infant dawn, and morning's herald star Comes trembling into day: O! can the Sun be far?
# Poets of John Company/Promotion by Merit

Promotion by Merit.
Where kin or friendship gives a lien Surpassing merit is detected; Which, teste Darwin, comes to mean Extinction of the unselected.
# Poets of John Company/Lines on Recovering from Sickness

JOHN WILLIAM KAYE.
1814-1876.
Lines Written on Recovering from Sickness, September, 1834.
I stood upon the shores of Hindustan, A solitary man; And a voice came pealing across the sea, Unheard by all but me; And the voice said "Up; and be gone my son, This land is not for thee.
"Why hast thou left thine own sweet country's bowers. And all its world of flowers? Why hast thou left a home of quiet bliss For such a clime as this? Up; and begone, my son, and quit this land; Thou know'st not what it is.
"Why should'st thou leave a shore, where all is green, Fresh, lovely, and serene; To seek a country far across the sea Where winds blow parchingly. And grim disease comes stalking o'er the plain, Ready to light on thee."
"Dost thou seek glory?—Why abroad then roam? Have we not that at home? Dost thou seek riches?—Oh, believe me. Son, That such a goal when won Will not repay thee for the weary race Thou, seeking it, hast run."
But stubbornness was in my heart; and I Turn'd away silently: Yet still I could but hear the warning voice— "Methinks, thou dost rejoice In this thine exile"—then I answer made "Alas! 'twas not my choice."
Much did I marvel what the voice could be, That thus importuned me; And I cried out—"Those tones, oh! whose are they That now I hear—oh! say: Me-thought at first it was my mother's voice: That thought has died away;
"And now I know not"—Then the voice replied "I am thy friend—thy guide— Thou hast none such throughout this teeming earth; E'en from thy very birth, I have watched o'er thee; and I charge thee now, Reseek thy father's hearth."
Then sickness came upon me: and I lay For many a weary day, Cursing the hour, when first I saw the light: At morn I pray'd for night, And when night came I long'd for day to burst Upon my straining sight.
Then I had visions, though I never slept.
But aye my senses kept— Wild, troubled visions which I could not quell, Although I knew right well. That my distempered brain saw many things Which were invisible.
And as I lay upon the bed of pain, I heard the voice again; "My son, dost thou believe me?"—and I cried "Oh! my best friend—my guide— Whatever thou mayest be, relieve me, and Thou shalt be deified."
Then the voice said—"Thou needest not repine, The hand, which smote, is mine; And I smite whom I love.—Yet I will save Thy body from the grave; And when thou standest up, thou wilt regard The counsel which I gave."
And out I spake—"Whatever thou may'st be Who thus dost counsel me— Thou unembodied, formless eloquence, Whence comest thou—oh whence?" And the voice answered in the gentlest tones "My name is PROVIDENCE."
# Poets of John Company/Lines to Mrs. Heber

REGINALD HEBER.
1783-1826.
Lines Addressed to Mrs. Heber.
If thou wert by my side, my love, How fast would evening fail In green Bengala's palmy grove Listening the nightingale!
If thou, my love, wert by my side. My babies at my knee. How gaily would our pinnace glide O'er Gunga's mimic sea!
I miss thee at the dawning gray, When, on our deck reclined, In careless ease my limbs I lay And woo the cooler wind.
I miss thee when by Gunga's stream My twilight steps I guide. But most beneath the lamp's pale beam I miss thee from my side.
I spread my books, my pencil try The lingering noon to cheer. But miss thy kind approving eye, Thy meek attentive ear.
But when of morn and eve the star Beholds me on my knee, I feel, though thou art distant far, Thy prayers ascend for me.
Then on! then on! where duty leads. My course be onward still, O'er broad Hindostan's sultry mead, O'er bleak Almorah's hill.
That course, nor Delhi's kingly gates, Nor wild Malwah detain; For sweet the bliss us both awaits By yonder western main.
Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say. Across the dark blue sea; But ne'er were hearts so light and gay As then shall meet in thee!
# Poets of John Company/Preface

Preface.
THE original plan of this book provided for a collection of verse written in India by Englishmen from the earliest days of the British occupation up to our own time; and such a collection was actually made. To all who expressed their willingness to allow specimens of their work to appear, I would take this opportunity of expressing my grateful thanks. Two main difficulties—the trouble and expense of copyright, and the impossibility of producing a large work at a reasonable rate under post-war conditions of publication—have compelled the limitation of the scope of this anthology.
The poems here reproduced illustrate Anglo-Indian life (old style) from the close of the eighteenth century up to and including the period of the Mutiny: but sharp chronological limits have not been observed. The Leviora would fall beyond this period; but in spirit and in form this famous production is so reminiscent of the age of John Company that it makes an adequate conclusion to all the preceding verse. Unfortunately the law of copyright forbids the reproduction of any of Sir Edwin Arnold's work; but an attempt has been made in the introduction to recognize the range and quality of his poetry of oriental life.
For permission to include the three poems of Sir Alfred Lyall I am indebted to Messrs. Routledge. Mr. Ernest Bignold has been generous in permitting me to draw upon the Leviora; and Messrs. Lahiri have kindly allowed me to reprint Colman Macaulay's Lay of Lachen, which appeared originally in Indian Pandits in the Land of Snow, a pamphlet by Sarat Chandra Das. Lovers of the Himalaya will welcome this reproduction of an oft-quoted but rarely procurable poem. The omission of verse written by Indians is due to the fact that the modern school of poetry in India, heralded by the promise of ​Toru Dutt's genius, lies wholly outwith the scheme of this book. All the best of this poetry that belongs to the period of John Company I have already reproduced in The Bengali Book of English Verse published by Messrs. Longman.
In dealing with the periodical literature of the first half of last century, Mr. S. C. Sanial, the Secretary of the Calcutta Historical Society, has freely put his wide and accurate knowledge at my disposal. Mr. J. A. Chapman of the Imperial Library has given much assistance in looking out forgotten volumes, and has helped with references to the catalogues of libraries outside of Calcutta. Mr. W. I. Keir has generously provided the anthology with its artistic cover; and Mr. C. F. Hooper has taken the responsibility of publishing a book that, from a commercial point of view, may not be considered much of a venture. To his enthusiasm for the literature produced in India by our countrymen, the "Poets of John Company" are indebted for their present resurrection.
T. O. D. D.
United Service Club, Calcutta, November, 1921.
# Poets of John Company/Lines on David Hare

DAVID LESTER RICHARDSON.
1801–1865.
Lines to the Memory of David Hare.
O'er the vast waste of waters—from a land Small but renowned—a proud undaunted band, Stirred with the thirst of conquest and of gold. Came—traded—triumphed! History never told Of monarch-merchants—heroes wandering far— A stranger tale of traffic or of war.
But can the busy mart, the battle field, The dearest wealth—the brightest triumph yield? Ah! no: e'en now our generous rulers claim A prouder guerdon and a purer fame. Though gold was gained and martial glory won, They knew their noblest task was not begun. They held our lands, but could not hold our hearts. Till, changing force for kindness, arms for arts, They proffered the rich wisdom of the west. And poorest minds with priceless treasures blest! In this divinest duty many a heart. With holy zeal, hath well sustained its part— All these our guides—an honour to their land— To ours a blessing—grateful love command; But in the glorious list, beyond compare, In types of light, behold the name of HARE!
Ah, warm philanthropist! ah, faithful friend! Thy life devoted to one generous end— To bless the Hindu mind with British lore, And truth's and nature's faded lights restore—
If for a day that lofty aim was crost, You grieved, like Titus, that a day was lost. Alas! it is not now a few brief hours That fate withholds—a heavier grief o'erpowers A nation whom you loved as if your own— A life that gave the life of life is gone!
Yet oh! my countrymen, why weep in vain? If aught may cause an earth-freed spirit pain, 'Tis when it sees in fond hearts left below An unresigned and unavailing woe. Be sighs above the grave breathed forth no more; The gods are deaf when men the past deplore; But let a friend's true merit best be proved By imitative zeal in acts he loved. His memory thus with loftiest lessons rife May well complete the purpose of his life, And while our Hindu youth Mind's blessings share They'll learn to venerate the name of HARE!
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 87

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# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 87/August 1915/Some Pioneers in Mosquito Sanitation and Other Mosquito Work II

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* SOME PIONEERS IN MOSQUITO SANITATION AND OTHER MOSQUITO WORK. II.
By Dr. L. O. HOWARD
BUREAU OF ENTOMOLOGY
Dr. A. Lutz, chef de service, Oswaldo Cruz Institute, Rio Janeiro, Brazil, formerly director of the Bacteriological Institute, São Paulo, Brazil; well-known worker in helminthology, pathology and bacteriology, as well as entomology; he has done much work on the mosquitoes of Brazil, and has conducted studies of great importance in regard to the relation of insects and disease.
Dr. Aristides Agramonte, Havana, Cuba, professor of bacteriology and experimental pathology, Havana University, Cuba; president of the Board of Infectious Diseases, Cuban Sanitary Department. He was the only Cuban member of the U. S. Army Yellow Fever Commission which proved the transmission of yellow fever by Aedes calopus (formerly called Stegomyia fasciata) and is the only surviving member of the Commission.
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 51

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# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 44

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# Presentiment (Rilke)

Poem
English-language translations of Vorgefühl include:
* Presentiment in Poet Lore, vol. 27, no. 6, translated by Sarah Tracy Barrows (1916)
* Presaging in Poems, translated by Jessie Lemont (1918)
# Presentiment—is that long Shadow—on the Lawn—

* "Presentiment is that long shadow" in Poems (1890)
* "Presentment is that long shadow on the lawn" in The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (1924)