OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Bismya

See also Bismya on Wikipedia; and our 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica disclaimer.
​BISMYA, a group of ruin mounds, about 1 m. long and 1/2 m. wide, consisting of a number of low ridges, nowhere exceeding 40 ft. in height, lying in the Jezireh, somewhat nearer to the Tigris than the Euphrates, about a day’s journey to the south-east of Nippur, a little below 32° N. and about 45° 40′ E. Excavations conducted here for six months, from Christmas of 1903 to June 1904, for the university of Chicago, by Dr Edgar J. Banks, proved that these mounds covered the site of the ancient city of Adab (Ud-Nun), hitherto known only from a brief mention of its name in the introduction to the Khammurabi code (c. 2250 B.C.). The city was divided into two parts by a canal, on an island in which stood the temple, E-mach, with a ziggurat, or stage tower. It was evidently once a city of considerable importance, but deserted at a very early period, since the ruins found close to the surface of the mounds belong to Dungi and Ur Gur, kings of Ur in the earlier part of the third millennium B.C. Immediately below these, as at Nippur, were found the remains of Naram-Sin and Sar-gon, c. 3000 B.C. Below these there were still 35 ft. of stratified remains, constituting seven-eighths of the total depth of the ruins. Besides the remains of buildings, walls, graves, &c., Dr Banks discovered a large number of inscribed clay tablets of a very early period, bronze and stone tablets, bronze implements and the like. But the two most notable discoveries were a complete statue in white marble, apparently the most ancient yet found in Babylonia (now in the museum in Constantinople), bearing the inscription—“E-mach, King Da-udu, King of Ud-Nun”; and a temple refuse heap, consisting of great quantities of fragments of vases in marble, alabaster, onyx, porphyry and granite, some of which were inscribed, and others engraved and inlaid with ivory and precious stones. (J. P. Pe.)
# Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/Belinda at the Bath

BELINDA at the Bath.
# Poems of the Great War/We Willed it Not

WE WILLED IT NOT
WE willed it not. We have lived in hate, Loving too well the shires of England thrown From sea to sea to covet your estate, Or wish one flight of fortune from your throne.
We had grown proud because the nations stood Hoping together against the calumny That, tortured of its old barbarian blood, Barbarian still the heart of man should be.
Builders there are who name you overlord, Building with us the citadels of light, Who hold as we this chartered sin abhorred, And cry you risen Cæsar of the Night.
Beethoven speaks with Milton on this day, And Shakespeare's word with Goethe's beasts the sky, In witness of the birthright you betray, In witness of the vision you deny.
We love the hearth, the quiet hills, the song, The friendly gossip come from every land; And very peace were now a nameless wrong,— You thrust this bitter quarrel to our hand.
For this your pride the tragic armies go, And the grim navies watch along the seas; You trade in death, you mock at life, you throw To God the tumult of your blasphemies.
You rob us of our love-right. It is said. In treason to the world you are enthroned. We rise, and, by the yet ungathered dead, Not lightly shall the treason be atoned.
JOHN DRINKWATER
# Poems of the Great War (Cunliffe)/The Island of Skyros

THE ISLAND OF SKYROS
Here, where we stood together, we three men, Before the war had swept us to the East Three thousand miles away, I stand again And hear the bells, and breathe, and go to feast. We trod the same path, to the self-same place, Yet here I stand, having beheld their graves, Skyros whose shadows the great seas erase, And Seddul Bahr that ever more blood craves. So, since we communed here, our bones have been Nearer, perhaps, than they again will be, Earth and the world-wide battle lie between, Death lies between, and friend-destroying sea. Yet here, a year ago, we talked and stood As I stand now, with pulses beating blood.
I saw her like a shadow on the sky In the last light, a blur upon the sea, Then the gale's darkness put the shadow by, But from one grave that island talked to me; And, in the midnight, in the breaking storm, I saw its blackness and a blinking light. And thought, "So death obscures your gentle form, So memory strives to make the darkness bright; ​ And, in that heap of rocks, your body lies, Part of the island till the planet ends, My gentle comrade, beautiful and wise, Part of this crag this bitter surge offends, While I, who pass, a little obscure thing, War with this force, and breathe, and am its king."
— John Masefield.
(See note on Rupert Brooke, p. 38.)
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1967, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 56 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# Poems on Several Occasions (Amhurst)

ΡΟΕΜS
ΟΝ
SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
Dedicated to the
Reverend Dr. Delaune, President of St. John's College in Oxford.
By N. Amhurst, sometime of the same College.
Jacta est Alea.
LONDON:
Printed for R. Francklin, at the Sun in Fleet- street. M. DCC. XX.
Price Two Shillings.
​Page:Poems on several occasions. Dedicated to the Reverend Dr. Delaune, president of St. John's College in Oxford (IA poemsonseveraloc00amhuiala).pdf/41 ​Page:Poems on several occasions. Dedicated to the Reverend Dr. Delaune, president of St. John's College in Oxford (IA poemsonseveraloc00amhuiala).pdf/42
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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# Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/A Pastoral, to a young Lady upon her leaving, and return to, the Country

A
PASTORAL,
To a young Lady upon her leaving, and return to, the Country.
# Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/An Epistle to my Friend Mr. Elijah Fenton, Author of Mariamne, a Tragedy, 1726

An Epistle to my Friend,
Mr. ELIJAH FENTON
Author of Mariamne, a Tragedy,
1726.
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* ↑ Mr. Fenton translated four Books of the Odyssey.
* ↑ See the Story of Proteus, Odyssey, lib. 4. translated by Mr. Fenton.
* ↑ —————bissenis una figuris Monstra vehit.————St. p. 429. Mr. Addison speaking of the Signs of the Zodiac, calls them starry Monsters. Mr. Cowley, radiant Monsters, &c.
* ↑ The Right Honourable Sir Robert Walpole, created Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter, 1726.
* ↑ See 10 Odyssey, V. 40.
* ↑ The Honourable Sir Thomas Hanmer, Speaker of the House of Commons.
* ↑ The Right Honourable Sir Spencer Compton, Speaker of the House of Commons, now Lord Wilmington.
* ↑ The Author translated eight Books of the Odyssey.
# Poems of the Great War/Wake up, England

"WAKE UP, ENGLAND"
THOU careless, awake!  Thou peacemaker, fight! Stand, England, for honour,  And God guard the Right!
Thy mirth lay aside,  They cavil and play: The foe is upon thee,  And grave is the day.
The monarch Ambition  Hath harnessed his slaves; But the folk of the Ocean  Are free as the waves.
For Peace thou art armed  Thy Freedom to hold: Thy Courage as iron,  The Good-faith as gold.
Through Fir, Air, and Water  Thy trial must be: But they that love life best  Die gladly for thee.
The Love of their mothers  Is strong to command; The fame of their fathers  Is might to their hand.
Much suffering shall cleanse thee;  But thou through the flood Shalt win to Salvation,  To Beauty through blood.
Up, careless, awake!  Ye peacemakers, fight! England stands for Honour:  God defend the Right!
ROBERT BRIDGES, Poet Laureate
# Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/A Dialogue between a Lady and her Looking-Glass, while she had the Green-Sickness

A
DIALOGUE
BETWEEN
A Lady and her Looking-Glass, while she had the Green-Sickness.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath, 1831/For a Picture of Saint Cecilia attended by Angels

SAINT CECILIA, ATTENDED BY ANGELS
Painted by Andrea CelestiEngraved by H. Robinson
For a picture
OF SAINT CECILIA ATTENDED BY ANGELS.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
How rich that forehead's calm expanse!
How bright that heaven-directed glance!
 —Waft her to Glory, winged Powers,
 Ere Sorrow be renewed,
And intercourse with mortal hours
Bring hack a humbler mood! Wordsworth.
How can that eye, with Inspiration beaming,
 Wear yet so deep a calm?—Oh, Child of Song!
Is not the Music-Land a world of dreaming,
 Where Forms of sad, bewildering beauty throng?
Hath it not sounds from voices long departed?
 Echoes of tones that rung in childhood's ear?
Low, haunting whispers, which the weary-hearted,
 Stealing 'midst crowds away, have wept to hear?
No, not for Thee!—thy Spirit, meek, yet queenly,
 On its own starry height, beyond all this
Floating triumphantly, and yet serenely,
 Breathes no faint under-tone through songs of bliss!
Say, by what strain, through cloudless ether swelling,
 Thou hast drawn down those wanderers from the skies?
Bright guests! even such as left of yore their dwelling,
 For the deep cedar-shades of Paradise!
What strain?—oh! not the nightingale's, when showering
 Her own heart's life drops on the burning lay,
She stirs the young woods in the days of flowering,
 And pours her strength, but not her grief, away:
And not the Exile's!—When 'midst lonely billows
 He wakes the Alpine notes his mother sung,
Or blends them with the sigh of alien willows,
 Where, murmuring to the wind, his harp is hung.
And not the Pilgrim's!—though his thoughts be holy,
 And sweet his Ave-song, when day grows dim,
Yet, as he journeys pensively and slowly,
 Something of sadness floats through that low hymn.
But Thou—the Spirit which at eve is filling
 All the hushed air and reverential sky,
Founts, leaves, and flowers with solemn rapture thrilling,
 This is the soul of thy rich harmony!
This bears up high those breathings of devotion
 Wherein the currents of thy heart gush free;
—Therefore no world of sad and vain emotion
 Is the dream-haunted Music-Land for Thee.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath, 1831/Rhine Song of the German Soldiers after Victory

Rhine Song
OF THE
GERMAN SOLDIERS AFTER VICTORY.
BY MRS. REMANS.
"But I wish you could have heard Sir Walter Scott describe a glorious sight, which had been witnessed by a friend of his!—the crossing of the Rhine at Ehren-breit-stein by the German army of Liberators on their victorious return from France. "At the first gleam of the river," he said, "they all burst forth into the national chaunt 'Am Rhein! am Rhein!'—they were two days passing over; and the rocks and the castle were ringing to the song the whole time;—for each band renewed it while crossing; and the Cossacks, with the clash and the clang, and the roll of their stormy war-music, catching the enthusiasm of the scene, swelled forth the chorus 'Am Rhein! am Rhein!' Manuscript Letter.
SINGLE VOICE.
It is the Rhine! our mountain vineyards laving,
I see the bright flood shine!
Sing on the march, with every banner waving—
Sing, Brothers! 'tis the Rhine!
CHORUS.
The Rhine, the Rhine! our own imperial River!
Be glory on thy track!
We left thy shores, to die or to deliver—
We bear thee Freedom back!
SINGLE VOICE.
Hail! Hail! my childhood knew thy rush of water,
Ev'n as my mother's song!
That sound went past me on the field of slaughter,
And heart and arm grew strong!
CHORUS.
Roll proudly on!—brave blood is with thee sweeping,
Poured out by sons of thine,
When sword and spirit forth in joy were leaping,
Like thee, victorious Rhine!
SINGLE VOICE.
Home! Home!—thy glad wave hath a tone of greeting,
Thy path is by my home:
Even now my children count the hours 'till meeting,
—O ransomed ones! I come!
CHORUS.
Go, tell the seas, that chain shall bind thee never—
Sound on by hearth and shrine!
Sing through the hills, that thou art free for ever—
Lift up thy voice, O Rhine!
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath, 1832/Naples

NAPLES
Painting by W. LintonEngraved by E. Goodall
NAPLES.
THE SONG OF THE SYREN.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
Then gentle winds arose
 With many a mingled close,
Of wild Æolian sound and mountain odour keen;
 Where the clear Baian ocean
 Welters with air-like motion
Within, above, around its bowers of starry green.
Shelley.
Still is the Syren warbling on thy shore,
Bright City of the Waves!—her magic song
Still, with a dreamy sense of ecstasy,
Fills thy soft summer's air:—and while my glance
Dwells on thy pictured loveliness, that lay Floats thus o'er Fancy's ear; and thus to thee,
Daughter of Sunshine! doth the Syren sing.
"Thine is the glad wave's flashing play,
Thine is the laugh of the golden day,
The golden day and the glorious night,
And the vine with its clusters all bathed in light!
—Forget, forget, that thou art not free!
Queen of the summer sea!
"Favoured and crowned of the earth and sky!
Thine are all voices of melody,
Wandering in moonlight through fane and tower,
Floating o'er fountain and myrtle bower;
Hark! now they melt o'er thy glittering sea;
—Forget that thou art not free!
"Let the wine flow in thy marble halls!
Let the lute answer thy fountain falls!
And deck thy beach with the myrtle bough,
And cover with roses thy glowing brow!
Queen of the day and the summer sea,
Forget that thou art not free"
So doth the Syren sing, while sparking waves
Dance to her chaunt.—But sternly, mournfully, O city of the deep! from Sybil grots And Roman tombs, the echoes of thy shore
Take up the cadence of her strain alone,
Murmuring—"Thou art not free!"
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath, 1831/A Song of Delos

DELOS
Painted by W. LintonEngraved by W. Miller
A Song of Delos.*
BY MRS. HEMANS.
Terre, soleil, vallons, belle et douce Nature,
Je vous dois une larme aux bords de mon tombeau; L’air est ai parfume! la lumiere est si pure!
Aux regards d'un Mourant le soleil est si beau! Lamartine.
A song was heard of old—a low, sweet song,
On the blue seas by Delos: from that isle,
The Sun-God's own domain, a gentle girl,
Gentle—yet all inspired of soul, of mien,
Lit with a life too perilously bright,
Was borne away to die. How beautiful
Seems this world to the dying!—but for her,
The child of beauty and of poesy,
And of soft Grecian skies—oh! who may dream
Of all that from her changeful eye flashed forth,
Or glanced more quiveringly through starry tears,
As on her land's rich vision, fane o'er fane
Coloured with loving light—she gazed her last,
Her young life's last, that hour! From her pale brow
And burning cheek she threw the ringlets back,
And bending forward—as the spirit swayed
The reed-like form still to the shore beloved,
Breathed the swan-music of her wild farewell
O'er dancing waves:—"Oh! linger yet," she cried;
 "Oh! linger, linger on the oar,
 Oh! pause upon the deep!
 That I may gaze yet once, once more,
Where floats the golden day o'er fane and steep.
Never so brightly smiled mine own sweet shore:
—Oh! linger, linger on the parting oar!
 "I see the laurels fling back showers
 Of soft light still on many a shrine;
 I see the path to haunts of flowers
Through the dim olives lead its gleaming line;
I hear a sound of flutes—a swell of song—
Mine is too low to reach that joyous throng!
 "Oh! linger, linger on the oar,
 Beneath my native sky!
 Though breathing from the radiant shore
Voices of youth too sweetly wander by!
Mine hath no part in all their summer-mirth,
Yet back they call me to the laughing earth.
"A fatal gift hath been thy dower,
 Lord of the Lyre! to me;
 With song and wreath from bower to bower,
Sisters went bounding like young Oreads free;
While I, through long, lone, voiceless hours apart,
Have lain and listened to my beating heart.
 "Now, wasted by the inborn fire,
 I sink to early rest;
 The ray that lit the incense-pyre,
Leaves unto death its temple in my breast.
—O sunshine, skies, rich flowers! too soon I go,
While round me thus triumphantly ye glow!
 "Bright Isle! might but thine echoes keep
 A tone of my farewell,
 One tender accent, low and deep,
Shrined 'midst thy founts and haunted rocks to dwell!
Might my last breath send music to thy shore!
—Oh! linger, seamen, linger on the oar!
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath, 1832/Books and Flowers

BOOKS AND FLOWERS.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
"La vue d'un fleur caresse mon imagination, et flatte mes sens a un point inexprimable. Sons le tranquille abri du toil paternel, j'etois nourrie des l'infance avec des fleurs et des livres;—dans l'etroite enceinte d'une prison, au millieu des fers imposes par la tyrannie, j'oublie l'injustice des hommes, leurs sottises et mes maux, avec des livres et des fleurs." Madame Roland.
Come, let me make a sunny realm around thee,
 Of thought and beauty! Here are books and flowers,
With spells to loose the fetter which hath bound thee,
 The ravelled coil of this world's feverish hours.
The soul of song is in these deathless pages,
 Even as the odour in the flower enshrined;
Here the crowned spirits of departed ages,
 Have left the silent melodies of mind.
Their thoughts, that strove with time, and change, and anguish,
 For some high place where Faith her wing might rest,
Are burning here;—a flame that may not languish,
 Still pointing upward to that bright Hill's crest!
Their grief, the veiled infinity exploring
 For treasures lost, is here;—their boundless love,
Its mighty streams of gentleness outpouring
 On all things round, and clasping all above.
And the bright beings, their own hearts' creations,
 Bright, yet all human, here are breathing still;
Conflicts, and agonies, and exultations,
 Are here, and victories of prevailing will!
Listen, oh, listen! Let their high words cheer thee!
 Their swan-like music, ringing through all woes!
Let my voice bring their holy influence near thee,
 The Elysian air of their divine repose!
Oh, wouldst thou turn to earth! Not earth, all furrowed
 By the old traces of man's toil and care,
But the green youthful world, that never sorrowed,
 The world of leaves, and dews, and summer air.
Look on these flowers! As o'er an altar, shedding
 O'er Milton's page, soft light from coloured urns!
They are the links, man's heart to nature wedding,
 When to her breast the prodigal returns.
They are from lone wild places, forest-dingles,
 Fresh banks of many a low-voiced hidden stream,
Where the sweet star of eve looks down, and mingles
 Faint lustre with the water-lily's gleam.
They are from where the soft winds play in gladness,
 Covering the turf with pearly blossom-showers;—
—Too richly dowered, O friend! are we for sadness,
 Look on an Empire—Mind and Nature—ours!"
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath, 1832

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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This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
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Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Winter’s Wreath, 1832
Compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* Prayer at Sea after Victory
* Naples
* Books and Flowers
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath, 1832/Prayer at Sea after Victory

Prayer at Sea after Victory.
BY MRS.HEMANS.
——————The land shall never rue, So England to herself do prove but true.——Shakspeare.
Through evening's bright repose
A voice of prayer arose,
 When the sea-fight was done;
The sons of England knelt,
With hearts that now could melt,
Round their tall ship, the main
Heaved with a dark red stain,
 Caught not from sunset's cloud;
While with the tide swept past
Pennon and shivered mast,
But free and fair on high,
A native of the sky,
 Her streamer met the breeze;
It flowed o'er fearless men,
Though hushed and child-like then,
Oh! did not thought of home
O'er each bold spirit come,
 As from the land, sweet gales?
In every word of prayer,
Had not some hearth a share
Yes! bright green spots that lay
In beauty far away,
 Hearing no billow's roar;
Safer from touch of spoil,
For that day's fiery toil,
A solemn scene, and dread!
The victors and the dead—
 The breathless, burning sky!
And, passing with the race
Of waves that keep no trace,
A stern, yet holy scene!
Billows, where strife hath been,
 Sinking to awful sleep;
And words that breathe the sense
Of God's omnipotence,
Borne through such hours afar,
Thy flag hath been a star
 Where eagle's wing ne'er flew;
England! the unprofaned,
Thou of the homes unstained!
# 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Chambre Ardente

See also Chambre Ardente on Wikipedia; and our 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica disclaimer.
​CHAMBRE ARDENTE (Fr. “burning chamber”), the term for an extraordinary court of justice in France, mainly held for the trials of heretics. The name is perhaps an allusion to the fact that the proceedings took place in a room from which all daylight was excluded, the only illumination being from torches, or there may be a reference to the severity of the sentences in ardente, suggesting the burning of the prisoners at the stake. These courts were originated by the Cardinal of Lorraine, the first of them meeting in 1535 under Francis I. The Chambre Ardente co-operated with an inquisitorial tribunal also established by Francis I., the duty of which was to discover cases of heresy and hand them over for final judgment to the Chambre Ardente. The reign of Henry II. of France was particularly infamous for the cruelties perpetrated by this court on the Huguenots. The marquise de Brinvilliers (q.v.) and her associates were tried in the Chambre Ardente in 1680. The court was abolished in 1682.
See N. Weiss, La Chambre Ardente (Paris, 1889), and F. Ravaisson, Archives de la Bastille (Paris, 1866–1884, 16 vols.).