OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night/El Amin Ben er Reshid and His Uncle Ibrahim Ben el Mehdi

First-level story, told by Shehrzad
EL AMIN BEN ER RESHID AND HIS UNCLE IBRAHIM BEN EL MEHDI.
El Amin, son of Er Reshid, once entered the house of his uncle Ibrahim ben el Mehdi and saw there a slave-girl playing upon the lute. She was one of the fairest of women, and his heart inclined to her. Ibrahim, seeing how it was with him, sent the girl to him, with rich apparel and precious jewels. When he saw her, he thought that his uncle had lain with her; so he was loath to have to do with her, because of this, and sent her back to Ibrahim, accepting the present that came with her. Ibrahim learnt the reason of this from one of El Amin’s servants; so he took a shift of flowered silk and let work upon his skirt, in letters of gold, the following lines:
By Him to whom all fronts do bow, of that which is Beneath her skirt, I swear, I’m ignorant outright; Nor have I had in aught to meddle with her mouth, Except it were by way of hearing and of sight.
​Then he clad her in the shift and giving her a lute sent her once more to his nephew. When she came into the latter’s presence, she kissed the earth before him and tuning the lute, sang thereto the following verses:
By returning the gift, thou showest what’s hid in thy breast, And thine aversion to me is made manifest. As thou bear malice for aught that hath been,—forgive The past, for the Khalifate’s sake, and let it rest.
When she had made an end of her song, El Amin looked at her and reading that which was wrought upon her skirt, could not control himself, Night ccccxix.but drew near unto her and kissed her and appointed her a separate lodging in his palace. Moreover, he thanked his uncle for this and bestowed on him the government of Er Reï.
* ↑ Sixth of the Abbaside Khalifs, A.D. 809–813.
* ↑ See note, Vol. III. p. 324.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Army and Navy Hymnal/Hymns/Abide with Me! Fast Falls the Eventide

* Abide with me! fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide! When other helpers fail,and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me!
* Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away; Change and decay in all around I see; O thou who changest not, abide with me!
* I need thy presence every passing hour; What but thy grace can foil the tempter's power? Who like thyself my guide and stay can be? Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me!
* I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless; Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness: Where is death's sting? where, grave thy victory? I triumph still if thou abide with me!
* Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes, shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies: Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee; In life and death, O Lord abide with me! A-men
# The Army and Navy Hymnal/Hymns/Alas! and Did My Saviour Bleed

The refrain and the music were added by Hudson.
Layout 2
| | Alas! and Did My Saviour Bleed | 221 |
| Isaac Watts, 1674-1748 R. E. Hudson |||
| A musical score should appear at this position in the text. See Help:Sheet music for formatting instructions |||
* Alas! and did my Saviour bleed,And did my Sovereign die? Would he devote that sacred head For such an one as I ? Refrain At the cross, at the cross,where I first saw the light, And the burden Of my heart rolled away, It was there by faith I received my sight, And now I am happy all the day
* Was it for crimes that I have done, He groaned up-on the tree? Amaz-ing pit - y, grace unknown, And love beyond degree ! Refrain
* But drops of grief can ne'er re-pay The debt of love I owe; Here, Lord, I give my-self away, Tis all that I can do! Refrain
# The Army and Navy Hymnal/Hymns/All the Way My Saviour Leads Me

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| 206 | All the Way My Saviour Leads Me |
| 206 | (ALL THE WAY. 8, 7, 8, 7, D.) |
| Fanny J. Crosby, 1820-1915 Robert Lowry, 1875 |||
| A musical score should appear at this position in the text. See Help:Sheet music for formatting instructions |||
* All the way my Saviour leads me; What have I to ask beside? Can I doubt his tender mercy, Who thro' life has been my guide? Heavenly peace, divinest comfort, Here by faith in him to dwell; For I know whate'er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well; For I know whate'er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well.
* All the way my Saviour leads me; Cheers each winding path I tread; Gives me grace for every trial, Feeds me with the living bread; Though my weary steps may falter, And my soul athirst may be, Gushing from the Rock before me, Lo, a spring of joy I see; Gushing from the Rock before me, Lo, a spring of joy I see.
* All the way my Saviour leads me; O the fullness of his love! Perfect rest to me is promised In my Father's house above; When my spirit clothed, immortal, Wings its flight to realms of day, This my song thro' endless ages Jesus led me all the way; This my song thro' endless ages Jesus led me all the way. Amen.
Copyright, 1917 by Mary Runyon Lowry. Renewal. Used by permission
# The Army and Navy Hymnal/Hymns/All Glory, Laud, and Honor

* All glory, laud and honour To thee, Redeemer King. To whom the lips of children Made sweet hosannas ring! The people of the Hebrews With palms before thee went; Our praise and prayer and anthems Before thee we present.
* Thou art the King of Israel, Thou David's royal Son, Who in the Lord's name comest, The King and blessed One! To thee, before thy passion, They sang their hymns of praise; To thee now high exalted Our melody we raise.
* Thou didst accept their praises; Accept the prayers we bring, Who in all good delightest, Thou good and gracious King! All glory, laud and honor To thee, Redeemer, King, To whom the lips of children Made sweet hosannas ring! A-men
# The Army and Navy Hymnal/Hymns

Contents
The Hymns
# The Army and Navy Hymnal/Hymns/A Mighty Fortress is Our God

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* A mighty fortress is our God, A bulwark never failing; Our helper he, amid the flood Of mortal ills prevailing. For still our ancient foe Doth seek to work us woe; His craft and power are great ; And armed with cruel hate, On earth is not his equal.
* Did we in our own strength confide, Our striving would be losing, Were not the right man on our side, The man of God's own choosing. Dost ask who that may be ? Christ Jesus, it is he, Lord Sabaoth his name, From age to age to the same, And he must win the battle.
* And tho'this world, with devils filled, Should threaten to undo us; We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us. The prince of darkness grim, We tremble not for him ; His rage we can endure, For lo ! his doom is sure, One little word shall fell him.
* That word above all earthly powers, No thanks to them, abideth; The Spirit and the gifts are ours Thro' him who with us sideth; Let goods and kin-dred go, This mortal life also ; The body they may kill: God's truth abideth still, His kingdom is forever. Amen.
# The Army and Navy Hymnal/Hymns/All My Heart This Night Rejoices

* All my heart this night rejoices, As I hear, far and near, Sweetest angel voices; 'Christ is born," their choirs are singing, Till the air everywhere Now with joy is ringing.
* Hark! a voice from yonder manger, Soft and sweet, doth entreat; 'Flee from woe and danger; Brethren, come; from all that grieves you, You are freed; all you need I will surely give you.'
* Come, then, let us hasten yonder! Here let all, great and small, Kneel in awe and wonder! Love him who with love is yearning! Hail the Star, that from far Bright with hope is burning!
* Thee, dear Lord, with heed I'll cherish, Live to thee, and with thee Dying, shall not perish; But shall dwell with thee forever, Far on high, in the joy That can alter never. Amen.
Music copyrighted by Horatio W. Parker. Used by permission
# The Army and Navy Hymnal/Hymns/A Thousand Years Have Come

To the tune "Carol" by Richard Storrs Willis
| A Thousand Years Have Come | 40 |
| (CAROL ) | 40 |
1 A thousand years have come and gone,
And near a thousand more,
Since happier light from heaven shone
Than ever shone before,
And in the hearts of old and young
A joy most joyful stirred,
That sent such news from tongue to tongue
As ears had never heard.
2. And we are glad, and we will sing,
As in the days of yore;
Come all, and hearts made ready bring,
To welcome back once more
The day when first on wintry earth
A summer change began And, dawning in a lowly birth,
Uprose the Light of man.
Thomas T. Lynch, 1868
# The Army and Navy Hymnal/Hymns/All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name

* All hail the power of Jesus' name! Let angels prostrate fall; Bring forth the royal diadem, And crown him Lord of all! Bring forth the royal diadem, And crown him Lord of all!
* Let every kindred, every tribe, On this terrestrial ball, To him all majesty ascribe, And crown him Lord of all! To him all majesty ascribe, And crown him Lord of all!
* Oh, that with yonder sacred throng, We at his feet may fall, Join in the everlasting song, And crown him Lord of all! Join in the everlasting song, And crown him Lord of all! Amen.
# The Army and Navy Hymnal/Hymns/Alphabetical Index of Tunes

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Alphabetical Index of tunes
# The Book of Nonsense/There was an Old Lady of Prague

London: F. Warne & Co., page 100
There was an Old Lady of Prague, Whose language was horribly vague; When they said, "Are these caps?" She answered, "Perhaps!" That oracular Lady of Prague.
# The Book of Nonsense/There was an Old Man of Bohemia

London: F. Warne & Co., page 52
There was an Old Man of Bohemia, Whose daughter was christened Euphemia; But one day, to his grief, She married a thief, Which grieved that Old Man of Bohemia.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/O hinder me by no delay!

LXIII
O hinder me by no delay! My horse is weary of the way, And still his breast must stem the tide Whose waves are foaming far and wide. Leagues off I heard their thundering roar, As fast they burst upon the shore; A stronger steed than mine might dread To brave them in their boiling bed.
Thus spoke the traveller, but in vain; The stranger would not turn away, Still clung she to his bridle rein And still entreated him to stay.
Here with my knee upon the stone I bid adieu to feelings gone; I leave with thee my tears and pain, And rush into the world again.
O come again! what chains withhold The steps that used so fleet to be? Come, leave thy dwelling dark and cold, Once more to visit me.
Was it with the fields of green, Blowing flower and budding tree, With the summer heaven serene, That thou didst visit me? ​No; 'twas not the flowery plain: No; 'twas not the fragrant air: Summer skies will come again, But thou wilt not be there.
How loud the storm sounds round the hall! From arch to arch, from door to door, Pillar and roof and granite wall Rock like a cradle in its roar.
The elm-tree by the haunted well Greets no returning summer skies; Down with a rush the giant fell And stretched across the path it lies.
Hardly had passed the funeral train, So long delayed by wind and snow; And how they'll reach the house again To-morrow's sun perhaps will show.
What use is it to slumber here, Though the heart be sad and weary? What use is it to slumber here, Though the day rise dark and dreary?
For that mist may break when the sun is high, And this soul forget its sorrow, And the rosy ray of the closing day May promise a brighter morrow.
····· ​O evening, why is thy light so sad? Why is the sun's last ray so cold? Hush! our smile is as ever glad, But my heart is growing old.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/O wander not so far away!

XVIII
O wander not so far away! O love, forgive this selfish tear; It may be sad for thee to stay, But how can I live lonely here?
The still May morn is warm and bright, Young flowers are fresh, and grass is green, And in the haze of glorious light Our long low hills are scarcely seen.
Our woods—e'en now their young leaves hide Where blackbird and the throstle dwell; And high in heaven so blue and wide A thousand strains of Music swell.
He looks on all with eyes that speak So deep, so drear a woe to me! There is a faint red on his cheek Unlike the bloom I like to see.
Call Death—yes Death he is mine own, The grave must close those limbs around, And hush, for ever hush the tone, I loved above all earthly sound.
Well! pass away with the other flowers; Too dark for them, too dark for thee Are the hours to come, the joyless hours, That time is treasuring up for me. ​If thou hast sinned in this world of woe, 'Twas but the dust of thy drear abode; Thy soul was pure when it entered here And pure it will go again to God.
February 20, 1838.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/Oh might my footsteps find a rest!

VIII
O might my footsteps find a rest! O might my eyes with tears run o'er! O could the wound but leave my breast To lapse in days that are no more! And if I could in silence mourn Apart from lying sympathy, And man's remarks or sighs or scorn, I should be where I wish to be. For nothing nearer paradise Ought for a moment to be mine: I've far outlived such real joys— I could not bear so bright a shine; For I've been consecrate to grief— I should not be if that were gone— And all my prospect of relief On earth would be to grieve alone! To live in sunshine now would be To live in every sweetest thought; What I have been and seen below Must first be utterly forgot. And I can not forget the years Gone by as if they'd never been; Yet if I will remember—tears Must always dim the dreary scene. So there's no choice. However bright May beam the blaze of July's sun, 'Twill only yield another sight Of scenes and times for ever gone. ​However young and lovely round Fair forms may meet my cheerless eye, They'll only hover o'er the ground Where fairer forms in darkness lie; And voices tuned to music's thrill, And laughter light as marriage strain, Will only wake a ghostly chill, As if the buried spoke again. All—all is over, friend or lover Cannot awaken gladness here; Though sweep the strings their music over, No sound will rouse the stirless air. I am dying away in dull decay, I feel and know the sands are down, And evening's latest, lingering ray And last from my wild heaven is flown. Not now I speak of things whose forms Are hid by intervening years, Not now I fear departed storms For bygone griefs and dried-up tears. I cannot weep as once I wept Over my western beauty's grave, Nor wake the word that long has slept By Gambier's towers and trees and wave. I am speaking of a later stroke, A death the dream of yesterday; I am thinking of my latest shock, A noble friendship torn away. ​I feel and say that I am cast From hope, and peace, and power, and pride— A withered leaf on Autumn blast; A shattered wreck on ocean's tide, Without a voice to speak to you Save that deep gong which tolled my doom And made my dread iniquity Look darker than my deepest gloom; Without companion save the light, For ever present to my eye, Of that tempestuous winter's night That saw my angel Mary die.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/On its bending stalk a bonny flower

XXI
On its bending stalk a bonny flower In a yeoman's home-close grew; It had gathered beauty from sunshine and shower, From moonlight and silent dew, Till the tufted leaves of the garden bower Like a star it sparkled through.
It was a little budding rose, Round like a fairy globe, And shyly did its leaves unclose Hid in their mossy robe, But sweet was the slight and spicy smell It breathed from its heart invisible.
Keenly his flower the yeoman guarded, He watched it grow both day and night; From the frost, from the wind, from the storm he warded That flush of roseate light, And ever it glistened bonnilie Under the shade of the old roof-tree.
The morning sunshine had called him forth, His garden was full of dew, And green light slept on the happy earth, And the sky was calm and blue. The yeoman looked for his lovely flower; There were leaves, but no buds, in the sheltering bower.
​The rose was borne to another land, And grew in another bed; It was cultured by another hand, And it sprung and flourishèd; And fair it budded day by day Beneath a new sun's cheering ray.
But long lies the dew on its crimson leaves, It almost looks like tears; The flower for the yeoman's home-close grieves Amid a King's parterres. Little moss-rose, cease to weep, Let regret and sorrow sleep.
The rose is blasted, withered, blighted, Its root has felt a worm, And like a heart beloved and slighted, Failed, faded, shrunk its form. Bud of beauty, bonnie flower, I stole thee from thy natal bower.
I was the worm that withered thee, Thy tears of dew all fell for me; Leaf and stalk and rose are gone, Exile earth they died upon. Yes, that last breath of balmy scent With alien breezes sadly blent.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/O Mother! I am not regretting

XVI
O mother! I am not regretting To leave this wretched world below, If there be nothing but forgetting In that dark land to which I go.
Yet though 'tis wretched now to languish, Deceived and tired and hopeless here, No heart can quite repress the anguish Of leaving things that once were dear.
Twice twelve short years and all is over, And day and night to rise no more, And never more to be a rover Along the fields, the woods, the shore.
And never more at early dawning To watch the stars of midnight wane, To breathe the breath of summer morning, And see its sunshine ne'er again.
I hear the abbey bells are ringing; Methinks their chime sounds faint and drear, Or else the wind is adverse winging, And wafts its music from my ear.
The wind the winter night is speaking Of thoughts and things that should not stay: Mother, come near, my heart is breaking; I cannot bear to go away. ​And I must go whence no returning To soothe your grief or calm your care; Nay, do not weep; that bitter mourning Tortures my soul with wild despair.
No; tell me that when I am lying In the old church beneath the stone, You'll dry your tears and check your sighing, And soon forget the spirit gone.
You've asked me long to tell what sorrow Has blanched my cheek and quenched my eye; And we shall never cry to-morrow, So I'll confess before I die.
Ten years ago in last September Fernando left his home and you, And still I think you must remember The anguish of that last adieu.
And well you know how wildly pining I longed to see his face again, Through all the Autumn drear deceiving Its stormy nights and days of rain.
Down on the skirts of Areon's Forest There lies a lone and lovely glade, And there the hearts together nourished, Their first, their fatal parting made. ​The afternoon in softened glory Bathed each green swell and waving tree, And the broad park spread before me Stretched towards the boundless sea.
And there I stood when he had left me, With ashy cheek and tearless eye, Watching the ship whose sail bereft me Of life and hope, and love and joy.
It past: that night I sought a pillow Of sleepless woe and grieving lone; My soul still bounded o'er the billow, And mourned a love for ever flown.
Yet smiling bright in recollection One blissful hour returns to me; The letter told of firm affection, Of safe deliverance from the sea.
But not another; fearing, hoping, Spring, winter, harvest glided o'er; And time at length brought power for coping With thoughts I could not once endure.
And I would seek in summer evening The place that saw our last farewell, And there a chain of visions weaving, I'd linger till the curfew bell.
December 14, 1837.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/O dream, where art thou now?

XXIX
O dream, where art thou now? Long years have passed away Since cast from off thine angel brow I saw the light decay.
Alas! alas for me! Thou wert so bright and fair, I could not think thy memory Would yield me nought but care!
The moonbeam and the storm, The summer eve divine, The silent night of solemn calm, The full moon's cloudless shine,
Were once entwined with thee, But now with weary pain. Lost vision! 'tis enough for me Thou canst not shine again.
November 3, 1838.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/Oh, all the cares these noontide airs

V
Oh, all the cares these noontide airs Might seem to drive away, So glad and bright each sight appears, Each sound so soft and gay; And through the shade of yonder glade, Where thick the leaves are dancing, While jewels rare and flow'rets rare A hundred plumes are glancing. For there the palace portals rise Beyond its myrtle grove, Catching the whitest, brightest dyes From the deep blue dome above. But has this little lonely spot, No place among its trees, By all unknown, by all forgot, Save sunshine and the breeze?
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/On the Fall of Zalona

L
ON THE FALL OF ZALONA
All blue and bright in golden light The morn comes marching on, And now Zalona's steeples white Glow golden in the sun.
This day might be a festal day; The streets are crowded all, And emerald flags stream broad and gay From turret, tower and wall.
And hark! how music evermore Is sounding in the sky; The deep bells boom, the cannon roar, The trumpets sound on high.
The deep bells boom, the deep bells clash, Upon the reeling air, The cannon with unceasing crash Make answer far and near.
What do these brazen tongues proclaim? What joyous fête begun, What offering to our country's fame, What noble victory won?
​Go, ask that solitary sire Laid in his house alone; His silent hearth without a fire, His sons and daughters gone.
Go, ask those children in the street Beside their mother's door; Waiting to hear the lingering feet That they shall hear no more.
Ask those pale soldiers round the gate With famine-kindled eye. They say, ' Zalona celebrates The day that she must die.'
The charger by his manger tied Has wasted many a day; Yet ere the spur hath touched his side, Behold he sinks away!
And hungry dogs with wolflike cry Unburied corpses tear, While their gaunt masters gaze and sigh And scarce the feast forbear.
Now, look down from Zalona's wall; There war the unwearied foe; If ranks beneath the cannon fall, New ranks for ever grow.
​And many a week, unbroken thus Their troops our ramparts hem; And for each man that fights for us A hundred fights for them!
Courage and right and spotless Truth Were pitched 'gainst traitorous crime; We offered all, our age, our youth, Our brave men in their prime.
And all have failed! the fervent prayers, The trust in heavenly aid; Valour and Faith and sealèd tears, That would not mourn the dead.
Lips, that did breathe no murmuring word; Hearts, that did ne'er complain; Though vengeance held a sheathèd sword And martyrs bled in vain.
Alas, alas, the myrtle bowers By blighting blasts destroyed! Alas, the lily's withered flowers That leave our garden void!
Unfolds o'er tower, and waves o'er height, A sheet of crimson sheen, Is it the setting sun's red light That stains our standard green?
​Heaven help us in this awful hour! For now might Faith decay. Now might we doubt God's guardian power And curse instead of pray.
He will not even let us die, Not let us die at home; The foe must see our soldiers fly As they had feared the tomb!
Because we dare not stay to gain Those longed-for, glorious graves, We dare not shrink from slavery's chain To leave our children slaves!
But when this scene of awful woe Has neared its final close, As God forsook our armies, so May He forsake our foes!
February 24, 1843.