OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Biographical Dictionary of America/Bailey, William H.

​BAILEY, William H., lawyer, was born in North Carolina, Jan. 22, 1831. He was admitted to the bar in January, 1852, and in 1856 was elected attorney-general of North Carolina. In connection with his practice, he taught a law school, until the breaking out of the civil war, when he joined the Confederate army, and was present at the battle of Great Bethel Church. Va., which he claims, as the first Confederate victory, had more effect in prolonging hostilities than any other event. During the war he was acting assistant adjutant-general, judge advocate, and was also appointed receiver under the Confederate government. He was county solicitor at different periods of his life. In 1882 he was elected a representative to the legislature of North Carolina and served as chairman of the judiciary committee. He was also one of the code commissioners of the state. He removed late in life to Houston, Texas, where his son edited the Houston Daily Herald. The degree of LL. D. was conferred upon him by Rutherford college, N. C. Mr. Bailey gained a local fame as a humorist in verse. He also wrote several law-books. "The Conflict of Judicial Decisions"; "Onus Probandi"; " Self-Taught Law"; and "The Detective Faculty," and edited "The Fifth North Carolina Digest," and many articles legal, historical, and biographical for the magazines and newspapers.
# The Biographical Dictionary of America/Bailey, William Whitman

​BAILEY, William Whitman, botanist, was born at West Point, N. Y., Feb. 22, 1843, son of Jacob Whitman Bailey, professor of chemistry, geology, and mineralogy at the military academy. He received his early training at the school for officers' children, and upon the death of his father in 1857, he removed to Providence, R. I., where he entered the university grammar school. He entered Brown university in 1860, and in 1862 joined the 10th regiment R. I. volunteers in the defence of Washington. Returning to college he was graduated in 1864, and remained at the university during the following year as assistant in the chemical laboratory. During a part of 1866 he was assistant chemist at the Manchester (N. H.) print works; then (1866-’67) assistant in chemistry at the Massachusetts institute of technology, and in May, 1867, was appointed botanist to the U. S. geological exploration of 40th parallel under Clarence King. Failing health compelled his return to the east in 1868, and for a time he was deputy secretary of the state of Rhode Island. From 1869 to 1871 he was assistant librarian at the Providence athenæum. During a part of 1872 he engaged in journalism in New York, and until 1877 was a private teacher of botany, meanwhile studying that science at Columbia college and at the Harvard summer school. He was appointed instructor in botany at Brown university in 1877, and was given the chair of botany in 1881. He was made a member of the Torrey botanical club, Boston society of natural history, New England botanical club, the Rhode Island horticultural society, the New York microscopical society, the Appalachian mountain club, a fellow of American association for advancement of science, and a member of several military and social organizations. He was appointed, June, 1896, by President Cleveland a member of the board of visitors to the United States military academy, and served as secretary of the board. Among his published writings are: "The Botanical Collector's Hand-Book" (1881); "My Boyhood at West Point" (1891); "Botanist Note-Book" (1894); "Among Rhode Island Wild Rowers" (1895); and contributions in prose and verse to many periodicals and to the daily press.
# The Biographical Dictionary of America/Baird, Henry Matrin

​BAIRD, Henry Martin, educator, was born in Philadelphia, Pa., Jan. 17, 1823; son of Robert and Fermine Ophelia Amaryllis (Du Buisson) Baird. In 1850 he was graduated at the University of the city of New York with valedictory honors. During 1851-'52 he studied at the University of Athens; from 1853 to 1855 he attended the Union theological seminary, N. Y.; from 1855 to 1859 he continued his theological studies at Princeton theological seminary, Princeton, N. J., at the same time acting as tutor in the College of New Jersey. In 1859 he was made professor of Greek language and literature at the University of the city of New York. In 1866 he was ordained a minister of the Presbyterian church, and in 1873 was elected corresponding secretary of the American and foreign Christian union, holding the office until 1884. He also served as first vice-president of the American society of church history; president of Yonkers historical society, and member of many prominent societies, both in America and in Europe. He received the degrees A. B., 1850, and A. M., 1854. from the University of the city of New York; Ph. D., 1867, from the College of New Jersey; D. D., 1877, from Rutgers college, and LL. D., 1882, from the College of New Jersey. His publications include: "Modern Greece" (1856); "Life of the Rev. Robert Baird, D. D." (1866); "History of the Rise of the Huguenots of France" (1879); "Bernard Palissy" (1882); "The Huguenots and Henry of Navarre" (1886), and monographs of great historical interest, among which may be noted: "The French Synods of the Desert" (1888); "Camisard Uprising of the French Protestants" (1889); "Diplomatic Services of Benjamin Franklin" (1890); "The Chambre Ardente, and French Protestantism under Henry II." (1891), and "Influence of the Protestant Reformation on Civil and Political Institutions" (1892).
# The Biographical Dictionary of America/Baird, John

​BAIRD, John, constructive engineer, was born in Scotland in 1820. In 1840 he emigrated to Canada and began the study of mechanics; in 1843 he removed to the United States, and settled in Troy, N. Y., as mechanical designer in the Burden iron works, and later was made manager of the shops. In 1850 he became general manager in the Delamater iron works in New York city, and in 1857 the Cromwell steamship company employed him to design iron vessels intended to run between New York and New Orleans. For this company, under Mr. Baird's direction and from his designs, was built the first iron steamship ever launched in America. He remained in the employ of the Cromwell steamship company for twenty years. In 1887 Mr. Baird became vice-president of the Metropolitan elevated railway company of New York, and supervised the construction of the Sixth and Second avenue lines. After the elevated railroads were leased to the Manhattan company, Mr. Baird retired from the vice-presidency, and employed himself in securing patents for his various inventions for engines and boilers. He patented more than thirty such inventions, five of which he perfected within the last two months of his life. He died Oct. 18, 1891.
# The Cambridge History of English and American Literature

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Cambridge History of English and American Literature."
* sister projects: 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.
18-volume work published from 1907-1921 in two parts
* The Cambridge History of American Literature
* The Cambridge History of English Literature
# The Cambridge Modern History/Volume I

Index page: Cambridge_Modern_History_Volume_1.djvu A spoken word version of this edition is available at LibriVox
CONTENTS
| — | Preface By A. W. Ward, G. W. Prothero and Stanley Leathes |
| — | Introductory Note By Mandell Creighton |
| Chapter I. | The Age of Discovery By Edward John Payne |
| II. | The New World By Edward John Payne |
| III. | The Ottoman Conquest By John Bagnell Bury |
| IV. | Italy and Her Invaders By Stanley Mordaunt Leathes |
| V. | Florence (I): Savonarola By Edward Armstrong |
| VI. | Florence (II): Machiavelli By Laurence Arthur Burd |
| VII. | Rome and the Temporal Power By Richard Garnett |
| VIII. | Venice By Horatio Forbes Brown |
| IX. | Germany and the Empire By Thomas Frederick Tout |
| X. | Hungary and the Slavonic Kingdoms By Emil Reich |
| XI. | The Catholic Kings By Henry Butler Clarke |
| XII. | France By Stanley Mordaunt Leathes |
| XIII. | The Netherlands By Adolphus William Ward |
| XIV. | The Early Tudors By James Gairdner |
| XV. | Economic Change By William Cunningham |
| XVI. | The Classical Renaissance By Richard Claverhouse Jebb |
| XVII. | The Christian Renaissance By Montague Rhodes James |
| XVIII. | Catholic Europe By William Barry |
| XIX. | The Eve of the Reformation By Henry Charles Lea |
| — | Bibliographies |
| — | Chronological Table |
| — | Index |
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.
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# The Cave Girl/Part 2/Chapter 13

CHAPTER XIII
HOMEWARD BOUND
AT HONOLULU Waldo Emerson Smith-Jones and Nadara were married. Before the ceremony there had been some discussion as to what name should be used in describing Nadara in the formal contract.
“Nadara” alone seemed too brief and meaningless to the precise Mrs. Smith-Jones; but Waldo Emerson and the girl insisted that it was her name and all-sufficient. So, in lieu of another name, it was finally decided by all that “Nadara” could not be legally improved upon.
Prior to the ceremony, which took place on board the Priscilla, Mr. and Mrs. John Alden Smith-Jones, Captain Cecil Burlinghame, several invited guests from amongst officials and friends in Honolulu, and the crew of the Priscilla presented gifts to the bride.
Captain Burlinghame in presenting his proffered a few words in explanation of it.
“To you, Nadara,” he said, “these trinkets will hold a deeper meaning and a greater value than to another, for they come from your own forgotten island, where they lay for twenty years until, by ​chance, I picked them up close by the sea. The poor lady to whom they once belonged you never knew—it is quite possible that she never was upon your savage coast—and how her jewels came there must always remain a mystery. But two things you hold in common with her, for she was a lady and she was very beautiful.”
He held toward Nadara in his open palm a little worn bag of the skins of small rodents, sewn together with bits of gut. At sight of it both the girl and Waldo Emerson exclaimed in astonishment.
Nadara took the bag wonderingly in her hands and dumped the contents into her palm. Waldo pressed forward.
“Did you know to whom those belonged?” he asked Burlinghame.
“To Eugenie Marie Celeste de la Valois, Countess of Crecy,” replied the captain.
“They belonged to Nadara’s mother,” returned Waldo. “Her foster parents were present at her birth and took these jewels from the poor woman’s body after she had passed away. She was washed ashore in a boat in which there was only a dead man beside herself—Nadara was born that night.”
And so, when the clergyman had performed the marriage ceremony he entered upon the certificate in the space provided there for the name of the woman: Nadara de la Valois.
​And they are living in Boston now in a wonderful home that you have seen if you ever have been to Boston and been driven about in one of those great sight-seeing motor busses, for the place is pointed out to all visitors because of the beauty of its architecture and the fame that attaches to the historic and aristocratic name of its owner, which, as it happens, is not Smith-Jones at all.
# The Cavern of the Three Tells

* The Cavern of the Three Tells, in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 11, 1824.
* The Cavern of the Three Tells, in The Forest Sanctuary, and Other Poems (Lays of Many Lands), 1825.
# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Monk's Walk

THE MONK'S WALK
In this sombre garden close What has come and passed, who knows? What red passion, what white pain Haunted this dim walk in vain?
Underneath the ivied wall, Where the silent shadows fall, Lies the pathway chill and damp Where the world-quit dreamers tramp.
Just across, where sunlight burns, Smiling at the mourning ferns, Stand the roses, side by side, Nodding in their useless pride.
Ferns and roses, who shall say What you witness day by day? Covert smile or dropping eye, As the monks go pacing by.
Has the novice come to-day Here beneath the wall to pray? Has the young monk, lately chidden, Sung his lyric, sweet, forbidden?
Tell me, roses, did you note That pale father's throbbing throat? Did you hear him murmur, "Love!" As he kissed a faded glove?
Mourning ferns, pray tell me why Shook you with that passing sigh? Is it that you chanced to spy Something in the Abbot's eye?
Here no dream, nor thought of sin, Where no worlding enters in; Here no longing, no desire, Heat nor flame of earthly fire.
Branches waving green above, Whisper naught of life nor love; Softened winds that seem a breath, Perfumed, bring no fear of death.
Is it living thus to live? Has life nothing more to give? Ah, no more of smile or sigh— Life, the world, and love, good-bye.
Gray, and passionless, and dim, Echoing of the solemn hymn, Lies the walk, 'twixt fern and rose, Here within the garden close.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Masters

THE MASTERS
Oh, who is the Lord of the land of life,  When hotly goes the fray? When, fierce we smile in the midst of strife  Then whom shall we obey?
Oh, Love is the Lord of the land of life  Who holds a monarch's sway; He wends with wish of maid and wife,  And him you must obey.
Then who is the Lord of the land of life,  At setting of the sun? Whose word shall sway when Peace is rife  And all the fray is done?
Then Death is the Lord of the land of life,  When your hot race is run. Meet then his scythe and, pruning-knife  When the fray is lost or won.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Memory Of Martha

THE MEMORY OF MARTHA
Out in de night a sad bird moans,  An', oh, but hit 's moughty lonely; Times I kin sing, but mos' I groans,  Fu' oh, but hit 's moughty lonely! Is you sleepin' well dis evenin', Marfy, deah? W'en I calls you fom de cabin, kin you hyeah?  'T ain't de same ol' place to me,  Nuffin' 's lak hit used to be, W'en I knowed dat you was allus some'ers near.
Down by de road de shadders grows,  An', oh, but hit's moughty lonely; Seem lak de ve'y moonlight knows,  An', oh, but hit's moughty lonely! Does you know, I's cryin' fu' you, oh, my wife? Does you know dey ain't no joy no mo' in life?  An' my only t'ought is dis,  Dat I's honin' fu' de bliss Fu' to quit dis groun' o' worriment an' strife.
Dah on de baid my banjo lays,  An', oh, but hit's moughty lonely; Can't even sta't a chune o' praise,  An', oh, but hit's moughty lonely! Oh, hit's moughty slow a-waitin' hyeah below. Is you watchin' fu' me, Marfy, at de do'?  Ef you is, in spite o' sin,  Dey'll be sho' to let me in, Wen dey sees yo' face a-shinin', den dey'll know.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Murdered Lover

THE MURDERED LOVER
Say a mass for my soul's repose, my brother,  Say a mass for my soul's repose, I need it, Lovingly lived we, the sons of one mother,  Mine was the sin, but I pray you not heed it.
Dark were her eyes as the sloe and they called me,  Called me with voice independent of breath. God! how my heart beat; her beauty appalled me,  Dazed me, and drew to the sea-brink of death.
Lithe was her form like a willow. She beckoned,  What could I do save to follow and follow, Nothing of right or result could be reckoned;  Life without her was unworthy and hollow.
Ay, but I wronged thee, my brother, my brother;  Ah, but I loved her, thy beautiful wife. Shade of our father, and soul of our mother,  Have I not paid for my love with my life?
Dark was the night when, revengeful, I met you,  Deep in the heart of a desolate land. Warm was the life-blood which angrily wet you  Sharp was the knife that I felt from your hand.
Wept you, oh, wept you, alone by the river,  When my stark carcass you secretly sank. Ha, now I see that you tremble and shiver;  'T was but my spirit that passed when you shrank!
Weep not, oh, weep not, 't is over, 't is over;  Stir the dark weeds with the turn of the tide; Go, thou hast sent me forth, ever a rover,  Rest and the sweet realm of heaven denied.
Say a mass for my soul's repose, my brother,  Say a mass for my soul, I need it. Sin of mine was it, and sin of no other,  Mine was it all, but I pray you not heed 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.
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# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Mystic Sea

THE MYSTIC SEA
The smell of the sea in my nostrils,  The sound of the sea in mine ears; The touch of the spray on my burning face,  Like the mist of reluctant tears.
The blue of the sky above me,  The green of the waves beneath; The sun flashing down on a gray-white sail  Like a scimitar from its sheath.
And ever the breaking billows,  And ever the rocks' disdain; And ever a thrill in mine inmost heart  That my reason cannot explain.
So I say to my heart, "Be silent,  The mystery of time is here; Death's way will be plain when we fathom the main,  And the secret of life be clear."
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Meadow Lark

THE MEADOW LARK
Though the winds be dank,  And the sky be sober,  And the grieving Day  In a mantle gray  Hath let her waiting maiden robe her,—  All the fields along  I can hear the song Of the meadow lark,  As she flits and flutters,  And laughs at the thunder when it mutters.  O happy bird, of heart most gay  To sing when skies are gray!
When the clouds are full,  And the tempest master  Lets the loud winds sweep  From his bosom deep  Like heralds of some dire disaster,  Then the heart alone  To itself makes moan; And the songs come slow,  While the tears fall fleeter,  And silence than song by far seems sweeter.  Oh, few are they along the way  Who sing when skies are gray!
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Lover And The Moon

THE LOVER AND THE MOON
A lover whom duty called over the wave,  With himself communed: "Will my love be true  If left to herself? Had I better not sue Some friend to watch over her, good and grave?  But my friend might fail in my need," he said,  "And I return to find love dead.  Since friendships fade like the flow'rs of June,  I will leave her in charge of the stable moon."
Then he said to the moon: "O dear old moon,  Who for years and years from thy thrown above  Hast nurtured and guarded young lovers and love, My heart has but come to its waiting June,  And the promise time of the budding vine;  Oh, guard thee well this love of mine."  And he harked him then while all was still,  And the pale moon answered and said, "I will."
And he sailed in his ship o'er many seas,  And he wandered wide o'er strange far strands:  In isles of the south and in Orient lands, Where pestilence lurks in the breath of the breeze.  But his star was high, so he braved the main,  And sailed him blithely home again;  And with joy he bended his footsteps soon  To learn of his love from the matron moon.
She sat as of yore, in her olden place,  Serene as death, in her silver chair.  A white rose gleamed in her whiter hair, And the tint of a blush was on her face. At sight of the youth she sadly bowed  And hid her face 'neath a gracious cloud.  She faltered faint on the night's dim marge,  But "How," spoke the youth, "have you kept your charge?"
The moon was sad at a trust ill-kept;  The blush went out in her blanching cheek,  And her voice was timid and low and weak, As she made her plea and sighed and wept.  "Oh, another prayed and another plead,  And I could n't resist," she answering said;  "But love still grows in the hearts of men:  Go forth, dear youth, and love again."
But he turned him away from her proffered grace.  "Thou art false, O moon, as the hearts of men,  I will not, will not love again." And he turned sheer 'round with a soul-sick face  To the sea, and cried: "Sea, curse the moon,  Who makes her vows and forgets so soon."  And the awful sea with anger stirred,  And his breast heaved hard as he lay and heard.
And ever the moon wept down in rain,  And ever her sighs rose high in wind;  But the earth and sea were deaf and blind, And she wept and sighed her griefs in vain.  And ever at night, when the storm is fierce,  The cries of a wraith through the thunder pierce;  And the waves strain their awful hands on high  To tear the false moon from the sky.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Master-Player

THE MASTER-PLAYER
An old, worn harp that had been played Till all its strings were loose and frayed, Joy, Hate, and Fear, each one essayed, To play. But each in turn had found No sweet responsiveness of sound.
Then Love the Master-Player came With heaving breast and eyes aflame; The Harp he took all undismayed, Smote on its strings, still strange to song, And brought forth music sweet and strong.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Mystery

THE MYSTERY
I was not; now I am—a few days hence I shall not be; I fain would look before And after, but can neither do; some Power Or lack of power says "no" to all I would. I stand upon a wide and sunless plain, Nor chart nor steel to guide my steps aright. Whene'er, o'ercoming fear, I dare to move, I grope without direction and by chance. Some feign to hear a voice and feel a hand That draws them ever upward thro' the gloom. But I—I hear no voice and touch no hand, Tho' oft thro' silence infinite I list, And strain my hearing to supernal sounds; Tho' oft thro' fateful darkness do I reach, And stretch my hand to find that other hand. I question of th' eternal bending skies That seem to neighbor with the novice earth; But they roll on, and daily shut their eyes On me, as I one day shall do on them, And tell me not the secret that I ask.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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