OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Passion And The Death Of Jesus Christ/Invocation

INVOCATION
OF JESUS AND MARY.
O Saviour of the world, O Love of souls, O Lord most lovely of all beings! Thou by Thy Passion didst come to win to Thyself our hearts, by showing us the immense love that Thou didst bear to us in accomplishing a redemption which has brought to us a sea of benedictions, and which cost Thee a sea of pains and ignominies. It was principally for this end that Thou didst institute the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar, in order that we might have a perpetual memorial of Thy Passion: “ That we might have forever a perpetual memorial of so great a benefit,” says St. Thomas, “ He gives his body to be the food of the faithful,” which St. Paul had already said. As often as you shall eat this bread , you shall show the death of the Lord. (1 Cor xi. 26) Oh, how many holy souls hast Thou persuaded by these prodigies of love, consumed by the flames of Thy love, to renounce all earthly goods, in order to dedicate themselves entirely to loving Thee alone, O most amiable Saviour! O my Jesus! I pray Thee make me always remember Thy Passion; and grant that I also, a miserable sinner, overcome at last by so many loving devices, may return to love Thee, and to show Thee, by my poor love, some mark of gratitude for the excessive love which Thou, my God and my Saviour, hast borne to ​me. Remember, my Jesus, that I am one of those sheep of Thine, to save which Thou didst come down on the earth and didst sacrifice Thy divine life. I know that, after having redeemed me by Thy death, Thou hast not ceased to love me, and that Thou dost still bear to me the same love that Thou hadst for me when Thou didst die for my sake. Oh, permit me no longer to lead a life of ingratitude towards Thee, my God, who dost so much deserve to be loved, and hast done so much to be loved by me!
And thou, O most holy Virgin Mary, who didst take so great a part in the Passion of thy Son, obtain for me, I beseech thee, through the merits of thy sorrows, the grace to experience a taste of that compassion which thou didst so sensibly feel at the death of Jesus, and obtain for me also a spark of that love which wrought all the martyrdom of thy afflicted heart. Amen.
“ Let my mind, O Lord Jesus Christ, I beseech Thee, be absorbed in the fiery and honeyed sweetness of Thy love, that I may die for love of the love of Thee, who wert pleased to die for love of the love of me."
# The Passion And The Death Of Jesus Christ/Notice

​The fifth volume of the Ascetical Works is entirely devoted to the Passion of Jesus Christ. It consists of five parts, namely: i. Reflections on the Passion. 2. The Simple Exposition of the Passion. 3. Considerations. 4. Meditations. 5. Other Exercises of Piety.
A short treatise on the Passion has been given in. Volume II. The “Darts of Fire" has been inserted in Volume IV. — Ed.
# The Passing of the Year (Victor)

Worn and poor
* "The Passing of the Year" in The New Penelope (1877)
* "The Passing of the Year" in Poems (1900)
# The Passion And The Death Of Jesus Christ

The Centenary Edition.
The
Passion and the Death
of Jesus Christ.
BY St. ALPHONSUS de LIGUORI, Doctor of the Church.
EDITED BY REV. EUGENE GRIMM, Priest of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer.
NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, AND ST. LOUIS: BENZIGER BROTHERS, Printers to the Holy Apostolic See.
| R. WASHBOURNE, 18 Paternoster Row, London. | M. H. GILL & SON, 50 Upper O'Connell Street, Dublin. |
1887
page
CONTENTS.
REFLECTIONS AND AFFECTIONS ON THE PASSION OF JESUS CHRIST.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Passing of the Year

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Passing of the Year."
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* The Passing of the Year, a poem by Robert William Service
* The Passing of the Year, a poem by Frances Fuller Victor
# The Passion And The Death Of Jesus Christ/Approbation

APPROBATION.
By virtue of the authority granted me by the Most Rev. Nicholas Mauron, Superior General of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer, I hereby sanction the publication of the work entitled "The Passion and the Death of Jesus Christ," which is Vol. V. of the new and complete edition in English of the works of Saint Alphonsus de Liguori, called “The Centenary Edition.”
Elias Fred. Schauer,
Sup. Prov. Baltimorensis.
Baltimore, Md., October 15, 1886.
Copyright, 1886, by Elias Frederick Schaubr.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/On presenting the Freedom of the City to a Great General

ON PRESENTING THE FREEDOM OF THE CITY In a gold box to a great General.
he Board is met—the names are read; Elate of heart, the glad committee Declare the mighty man has said He’ll take “the freedom of the city.” He thanks the Council, and the Mayor, Presents ’em all his humble service; And thinks he’s time enough to spare To sit an hour or two with Jervis.
Hurra! hurra! prepare the room— Skaats! are the ham and oysters come? Go—make some savory whiskey-punch, The General takes it with his lunch; For a sick stomach, ’tis a cure fit, And vastly useful in a surfeit.
But see! the Mayor is in the chair; The Council is convened again; And ranged in many a circle fair, The ladies and the gentlemen
Sit mincing, smiling, bowing, talking Of Congress—balls—the Indian force— Some think the General will be walking, And some suppose he’ll ride, of course: And some are whistling—some are humming, And some are peering in the Park To try if they can see him coming; And some are half asleep—when, hark!
A triumph on the warlike drum, A heart-uplifting bugle-strain, A fife’s far flourish—and “They come!” Rung from the gathered train. Sit down—the fun will soon commence— Quick, quick, your Honor, mount your place, Present your loaded compliments, And fire a volley in his face!
They’re at it now—great guns and small— Squib, cracker, cannon, musketry; Dear General, though you swallow all, I must confess it sickens me.
D.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/Psalm CXXXVII.

PSALM CXXXVII.
“By the rivers of Babylon.”
e sat us down and wept, Where Babel’s waters slept, And we thought of home and Zion as a long-gone, happy dream; We hung our harps in air On the willow-boughs, which there, Gloomy as round a sepulchre, were drooping o’er the stream.
The foes whose chain we wore, Were with us on that shore, Exulting in our tears that told the bitterness of woe. “Sing us,” they cried aloud, “Ye once so high and proud, The songs ye sang in Zion ere we laid her glory low.”
And shall the harp of heaven To Judah’s monarch given Be touched by captive fingers, or grace a fettered hand?
No! sooner be my tongue Mute, powerless, and unstrung, Than its words of holy music make glad a stranger land.
May this right hand, whose skill Can wake the harp at will, And bid the listener’s joys or griefs in light or darkness come, Forget its godlike power, If for one brief, dark hour, My heart forgets Jerusalem, fallen city of my home!
Daughter of Babylon! Blessed be that chosen one, Whom God shall send to smite thee when there is none to save: He from the mother’s breast, Shall pluck the babe at rest, And lay it in the sleep of death beside its father’s grave.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake

ON THE DEATH OF
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE,
OF NEW YORK, SEPT., 1820.
“The good die first, And they, whose hearts are dry as summer dust, Burn to the socket.”
Wordsworth.
reen be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise.
Tears fell when thou wert dying, From eyes unused to weep, And long, where thou art lying, Will tears the cold turf steep.
When hearts, whose truth was proven, Like thine, are laid in earth, There should a wreath be woven To tell the world their worth;
And I who woke each morrow To clasp thy hand in mine,
Who shared thy joy and sorrow, Whose weal and woe were thine:
It should be mine to braid it Around thy faded brow, But I’ve in vain essayed it, And feel I cannot now.
While memory bids me weep thee, Nor thoughts nor words are free, The grief is fixed too deeply That mourns a man like thee.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/On the Death of Lieut. Allen

ON THE DEATH OF
LIEUT. WILLIAM HOWARD ALLEN,
OF THE AMERICAN NAVY.
e hath been mourned as brave men mourn the brave, And wept as nations weep their cherished dead, With bitter, but proud tears, and o’er his head The eternal flowers whose root is in the grave, The flowers of Fame, are beautiful and green; And by his grave’s side pilgrim feet have been, And blessings, pure as men to martyrs give, Have there been breathed by those he died to save.— Pride of his country’s banded chivalry, His fame their hope, his name their battle-cry; He lived as mothers wish their sons to live, He died as fathers wish their sons to die. If on the grief-worn cheek the hues of bliss, Which fade when all we love is in the tomb, Could ever know on earth a second bloom, The memory of a gallant death like his Would call them into being; but the few, Who as their friend, their brother, or their son, His kind warm heart and gentle spirit knew,
Had long lived, hoped, and feared for him alone; His voice their morning music, and his eye The only starlight of their evening sky, Till even the sun of happiness seemed dim, And life’s best joys were sorrows but with him; And when, the burning bullet in his breast, He dropped, like summer fruit from off the bough, There was on heart that knew and loved him best— It was a mother’s—and is broken now.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/Song

SONG.
TO MISS * * * *.
Air: “To ladies’ eyes a round, boy.”
Moore.
he winds of March are humming Their parting song, their parting song, And summer skies are coming, And days grow long, and days grow long. I watch, but not in gladness, Our garden-tree, our garden-tree; It buds, in sober sadness, Too soon for me, too soon for me. My second winter’s over, Alas! and I, alas! and I Have no accepted lover: Don’t ask me why, don’t ask me why.
’Tis not asleep or idle That Love has been, that Love has been; For many a happy bridal The year has seen, the year has seen; I’ve done a bridemaid’s duty, At three or four, at three or four; My best bouquet had beauty, Its donor more, its donor more.
My second winter’s over, Alas! and I, alas! and I Have no accepted lover: Don’t ask me why, don’t ask me why.
His flowers my bosom shaded One sunny day, one sunny day; The next they fled and faded, Beau and bouquet, beau and bouquet. In vain, at balls and parties, I’ve thrown my net, I’ve thrown my net; This waltzing, watching heart is Unchosen yet, unchosen yet. My second winter’s over, Alas! and I, alas! and I Have no accepted lover: Don’t ask me why, don’t ask me why.
They tell me there’s no hurry For Hymen’s ring, for Hymen’s ring; And I’m too young to marry: ’Tis no such thing, ’tis no such thing. The next spring-tides will dash on My eighteenth year, my eighteenth year; It puts me in a passion, Oh, dear, oh dear! oh dear, oh dear! My second winter’s over, Alas! and I, alas! and I Have no accepted lover: Don’t ask me why, don’t ask me why.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/Religion

RELIGION.
WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF MY PRAYER-BOOK.
hen Misery’s tear and Sorrow’s sigh Oppress the feeling mind, Say—where for refuge shall we fly? And where a refuge find?
The morn of life may open fair, And charm the view awhile; The world around us then may wear A universal smile;
But Life’s a transitory scene, Its prospects all are vain; The bosom that now beats serene, Too soon may throb with pain.
Though Pleasure Youth’s gay hours adorn, The wayward heart to please, ’Tis fleeting as the dew of morn, ’Tis fickle as the breeze.
Uncertain is our mortal breath, On swiftest wings it flies;
And soon the iron hand of death Shall close our dying eyes.
Such is our state—then, tell me, where, Oppressed with care and grief, The anxious bosom can repair, To seek and find relief?
To mild Religion—heavenly maid! Belongs the power alone, To dissipate the deepest shade, That shrouds the dark unknown.
She gives the glad inquiring mind This solemn truth to know: “The soul of man is not confined To this short space below.”
Then cherish well the hopes she gives, To banish all our fears: “The disembodied spirit lives Beyond the vale of tears.
“Though want, contempt, and scorn, attend The virtuous here below, Their future bliss shall far transcend Their present pain and woe.
“In realms of everlasting rest, Where cares and sorrows cease, The sainted spirits of the blest Shall find eternal peace.”
Then be to Heaven’s will resigned, And own Religion’s power, For there a sure resource we find, In sorrow’s darkest hour.
1810.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/Song (2)

SONG.
FOR THE DRAMA OF “THE SPY.”
he harp of love, when first I heard Its song beneath the moonlight tree, Was echoed by his plighted word, And ah, how dear its song to me! But wailed the hour will ever be When to the air the bugle gave, To hush love’s gentle minstrelsy, The wild war-music of the brave.
For he hath heard its song, and now Its voice is sweeter than mine own; And he hath broke the plighted vow He breathed to me and love alone. That harp hath lost its wonted tone, No more its strings his fingers move, Oh would that he had only known The music of the harp of love!
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/The Battery War

THE BATTERY WAR.
“Twice twenty shoe-boys, twice two dozen guards, Chairmen and porters, hackney-coachmen, dandies!”
“ere, Dickens!—go fetch my great-coat and umbrella, Tell Johnny and Robert to put on their shoes; And Dickens—take something to drink, my good fellow, You may go with Tom Ostler, along, if you choose: You must put your new coat on, but mind and be quiet, Till my clerk, Mr. Scribble, shall tip you the wink; Then, roar like the devil—hiss—kick up a riot! I imagine we’ll settle the thing in a twink.”
Arrived at the Hall, they were nothing too early; Little Hartman was placed, like King Log, in the chair, Supported, for contrast, by modest King Charlie; The General was speaking, who is to be Mayor: Undaunted he stood in the midst of the bobbery, Clerks, footmen, and dandies—ye gods! what a noise! No thief in Fly-Market, just caught in a robbery, Could raise such a clatter of blackguards and boys.
Mercein and Bogardus each told a long story, Very fine, without doubt, to such folks as could hear; Then the two kings resigned, and in high gig and glory The light-footed chief of the Guards took the chair: So he made them a speech, about little or nothing, Except he advised them to go home to bed; And the simple fact is, that, in spite of their mouthing, ’Twas the only good, sensible thing that was said.
By-the-way, though, we’ve heard that these sons of sedition, These vile Bonapartes (to quote Jemmy Lent), Are about to bring forward a second edition, And Squire McGareaghan fears the event. Now to let our wise Council their honest game play on yet, Just call out, your Honor, the Gingerbread Guards, Bid them drive at the traitors with cutlass and bayonet, And then pick their pockets as bare—as your bard’s.
D.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/The Bluebird

THE BLUEBIRD.
ON ITS FIRST APPEARANCE IN THE SPRING OF 1810.
ail! warbling harbinger of Spring! How soft thy wild notes fill the breeze! Raptured, I hear thy fluttering wing, Low murmuring ’mong the leafless trees. Now when all lone and drear Bleak Winter holds her gloomy reign, And spreads afar her wide domain, O’er brake and dell, and lawn and plain, With joy thy notes we hear; Their simple strains a charm impart, Dear to the languid, aching heart.
Say, hast thou left yon mountains mild, Where southern gales ambrosial blow? To cheer our fields now lone and wild, And ice-chained valleys clad in snow, The opening spring to hail? To bring the rosy charms of May, The feathered choir of warblers gay, And clothe in Nature’s green array, The mountain and the vale?
Then welcome to our groves once more, Thou token sure that winter’s o’er.
Sweet Bird! the grateful muse shall pay Her homage and her love to thee; To thee attune her earliest lay, And wake the lyre’s soft harmony; While each exulting mind Shall join, accordant with her lays, And every hand unite to raise A wreath of honorary bays, Around thy plumes to bind; To crown thee first of all the train Whose sportive warblings glad the plain.
Ye wintry clouds! that o’er the heart A shade of sable honor threw! Ye shadowy sorrows! hence! depart— Ye heart-corroding thoughts—adieu! With all your gloomy train, On wings of stormy tempests fly To Zembla’s coasts or Scythia’s sky; Then deep in trackless deserts lie, And ne’er return again. Let life a cheerful prospect wear, Uncurtained by thy clouds’ despair!
The mournful grove, in weeds forlorn, Bewails her festive summer bower:
No warblers now to wake the morn, Or charm the lonely evening hour! The warblers all are gone. Wild is the dreary prospect round, Hushed is the murmuring torrents’ sound, And solemn silence reigns profound, Terrific and alone! Wild the deserted groves appear, Untuneful, desolate, and drear!
But ah! yon songster’s glad return Proclaims thy reign will soon be o’er; And bids the heart no longer mourn, The Spring will soon return once more, And Nature smile serene. Her smiles shall dissipate the gloom, Again the fairest flowers shall bloom, And Summer soon her seat resume, Her robes of brightest green; Again the groves in state shall rise, And purest azure gild the skies.
Hail! grateful songster, tuneful bird! Thou earliest pledge of spring, all hail! How sweet thy plaintive notes are heard Floating adorn the balmy gale! How sweet thy morning song!
As wildly trembling—soft and slow, Its wood-notes fill yon vale below, Or, on resounding echoes, flow The distant hills along. Then welcome, lovely warbler, here Thy lay announcing, “Spring is near!”
# The Political History of Virginia during the Reconstruction

Research and transcription by William Maury Morris II. 10/15/2011.
BY
HAMILTON JAMES ECKENRODE
____________________
BALTIMORE
THE JOHNS HOPKINS PRESS
PUBLISHED MONTHLY
Copyright 1904, by
PREFACE.
CHAPTER I.
THE ALEXANDRIA GOVERNMENT
CHAPTER II.
THE PRESIDENT'S ATTEMPT AT RESTORATION
CHAPTER III.
THE BEGINNING OF THE RECONSTRUCTION
CHAPTER IV.
THE FREEDMEN'S BUREAU AND THE UNION LEAGUE.
CHAPTER V.
THE STATE CAMPAIGN OF 1867.
CHAPTER VI.
THE CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION OF 1868.
CHAPTER VII.
THE RESTORATION OF VIRGINIA.
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.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Pearl/Volume 6/THE BUDDING ROSE.

(These lines were written to amuse a girl of fifteen. They delighted her mother.)
Wonderful are Cupid's arts! He, the god of soft persuasion, At his pleasure stirs our hearts. To flames of eager passion.
Long I've loved thee, darling Sarah. Gradually more ripe and blooming; Daily, hourly, plumper, fairer, In the swelling charms of woman.
Sarah, when I saw you first. In the church, at sister's side; Oh my heart, with ardour burst! Could I call thee once my bride!
But your father is my foe, Hating me, so long his friend; Could he once my passion know, In thy misery it might end.
But a bonnet and a fan Are slight tokens of my passion; Such a girl for such a man Is a fatal strong temptation.
Happy bonnet! that can cover, Such a darling, maiden-head; Happy fan! - a vigorous lover Should be in your hand instead!
Yesterday you were a child, Now a blooming blushing virgin; Female passions warm and wild Are to actual pleasure urging.
Mr. B- was very cruel, "Virtue was at last rewarded," He obtained the mossy jewel. Pamela so long had guarded.
Fancy them in bed (and lying, She beneath, and he above; Kissing, cuddling, fainting, dying, In the ecstasies of love!)
Though he is a horrid sinner, Pamela forgives the crime, In again! again he's in her! Drinking pleasures quite divine!
See! his amorous lips and hands Fondle all her naked part; And his upright vigour stands, In her open ravished heart.
Shirt and shift are off together, Naked is the sweet embrace; Not one part's concealed by either, All's as naked as your face.
Even her modest brother Joseph, Joseph Andrews with his Fanny; When they once had got their clothes off, Had as little shame as any.
Such, dear Sarah, was the pleasure, Pamela at last enjoyed; Take them in their fullest measure, Kissing never, never cloyed.
Oh, if I could once behold you, Lying (naked on my bed); In my arms I would enfold you, I would (take your maidenhead!)
Sarah, live to love and pleasure, Careless what the grave may say; When each moment is a treasure, Why should lovers waste a day?
Setting suns may rise in glory, But, when little life is o'er, There's an end of all the story, We shall live and love no more!
Give me then, ten thousand kisses, Give me all thy blooming charms; Give me heavenly, melting blisses. Lying naked in my arms!
A philosophical dandy thus vented his musings upon Copulation: "The idea is old; the attitude queer; and the motion fully ridiculous; but all tends to the acme of felicity."
# The Pearl/Volume 6/TWO EXTRAORDINARY LETTERS.

Produced in the Case of the Duchess of Cleaveland, in a Tryal against her husband, Robert Fielding, Esq., in the Arches Court of Canterbury, in the year, 1707.
Dear Wife,-
Puggy's indisposition has made me against my will indebted to my dear wife, for a kind billet she brought me before this she sent me this morning, which I hope will safely kiss her hands, for the contrivance of conveying it is very ingenious. You'd have reason to pity Puggy if you knew all, that is to say, I believe she is in your condition, which news from my dearest wife, if it be confirmed, I fancy I should hardly ever survive the joy and transport, therefore for God's sake, confirm it, as soon as you are sure matters are fixed. I hope you remember the dear, dear day of my having you in my naked arms and seized, possessed myself of all those charming treasures my dear had till then denied me. But then! blest be the memory of so much bliss, then, I say, opened those flood gates of happiness, and sure you must remember that.
"Like night and heat incorporate we lay, We blest the night and cursed the coming day."
Nay, even still, whenever I think of that night's way of passing our time, and how my dear assisted me to get into the inmost closet of her dearest womb; methinks I fucked again with height of pleasure, and fucked and fucked till I dissolved with pleasure; make haste, then, my dearest Nannette, to your husband's arms to-morrow night, as you promised me by Puggy, that we may again repeat those pleasures. And though I believe I made my love a little sore, as I was myself the first time we tryed, yet now matters will be more easy. I am sure the head of your poor playfellow was so swelled by the eagerness of thrusting it into your seat of Paradise, that you took all the skin off the face of it; so pray bring some of the same balsam you carry about you to heal it, as the dear liquor my dear carries about between her legs, which she must promise to open as wide as she can, that my great prick may yet again arrive at the summit of felicity. Adieu.
Your own husband  FIELDING.
Dear Mary,-
I am glad my dearest wife got safe home, and without being whipped, for I should be very jealous if anyone should peep into Nannette's backside but myself. I assure you when I have got you once more in my arms, I'll so belabour it I'll make it black and blue, and cram it full of my elixir to nourish young Lord Tunbridge. Adieu my soul's life; think of your own.
FIELDING.
 To my better-half,  The Countess of Fielding.  At Waddon.