OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Birds of Passage (Collection)/Amalfi

Sweet the memory is to me Of a land beyond the sea, Where the waves and mountains meet, Where, amid her mulberry-trees Sits Amalfi in the heat, Bathing ever her white feet In the tideless summer seas.
In the middle of the town, From its fountains in the hills, Tumbling through the narrow gorge, The Canneto rushes down, Turns the great wheels of the mills, Lifts the hammers of the forge. 'Tis a stairway, not a street, That ascends the deep ravine, Where the torrent leaps between Rocky walls that almost meet.
Toiling up from stair to stair Peasant girls their burdens bear; Sunburnt daughters of the soil, Stately figures tall and straight, What inexorable fate Dooms them to this life of toil?
Lord of vineyards and of lands, Far above the convent stands. On its terraced walk aloof Leans a monk with folded hands, Placid, satisfied, serene, Looking down upon the scene Over wall and red-tiled roof;
Wondering unto what good end All this toil and traffic tend, And why all men cannot be Free from care and free from pain, And the sordid love of gain, And as indolent as he.
Where are now the freighted barks From the marts of east and west? Where the knights in iron sarks Journeying to the Holy Land, Glove of steel upon the hand, Cross of crimson on the breast?
Where the pomp of camp and court? Where the pilgrims with their prayers? Where the merchants with their wares, And their gallant brigantines, Sailing safely into port Chased by corsair Algerines?
Vanished like a fleet of cloud, Like a passing trumpet-blast, Are those splendors of the past And the commerce and the crowd! Fathoms deep beneath the seas Lie the ancient wharves and quays,
Swallowed by the engulfing waves; Silent streets and vacant halls, Ruined roofs and towers and walls; Hidden from all mortal eyes Deep the sunken city lies: Even cities have their graves!
This is an enchanted land! Round the headlands far away Sweeps the blue Salernian bay With its sickle of white sand: Further still and furthermost On the dim discovered coast Paestum with its ruins lies,
And its roses all in bloom Seem to tinge the fatal skies Of that lonely land of doom.
On his terrace, high in air, Nothing doth the good monk care For such worldly themes as these. From the garden just below Little puffs of perfume blow, And a sound is in his ears Of the murmur of the bees In the shining chestnut-trees;
Nothing else he heeds or hears. All the landscape seems to swoon In the happy afternoon; Slowly o'er his senses creep The encroaching waves of sleep, And he sinks as sank the town, Unresisting, fathoms down, Into caverns cool and deep!
Walled about with drifts of snow, Hearing the fierce north-wind blow, Seeing all the landscape white, And the river cased in ice, Comes this memory of delight, Comes this vision unto me Of a long-lost Paradise In the land beyond the sea.
# Birds of Passage (Collection)/Belisarius

I am poor and old and blind; The sun burns me, and the wind Blows through the city gate And covers me with dust From the wheels of the august Justinian the Great.
It was for him I chased The Persians o'er wild and waste, As General of the East; Night after night I lay In their camps of yesterday; Their forage was my feast.
For him, with sails of red, And torches at mast-head, Piloting the great fleet, I swept the Afric coasts And scattered the Vandal hosts, Like dust in a windy street.
For him I won again The Ausonian realm and reign, Rome and Parthenope; And all the land was mine From the summits of Apennine To the shores of either sea.
For him, in my feeble age, I dared the battle's rage, To save Byzantium's state, When the tents of Zabergan, Like snow-drifts overran The road to the Golden Gate.
And for this, for this, behold! Infirm and blind and old, With gray, uncovered head, Beneath the very arch Of my triumphal march, I stand and beg my bread!
Methinks I still can hear, Sounding distinct and near, The Vandal monarch's cry, As, captive and disgraced, With majestic step he paced,-- "All, all is Vanity!"
Ah! vainest of all things Is the gratitude of kings; The plaudits of the crowd Are but the clatter of feet At midnight in the street, Hollow and restless and loud.
But the bitterest disgrace Is to see forever the face Of the Monk of Ephesus! The unconquerable will This, too, can bear;--I still Am Belisarius!
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
# Birds of Passage (Collection)/Cadenabbia

LAKE OF COMO
No sound of wheels or hoof-beat breaks The silence of the summer day, As by the loveliest of all lakes I while the idle hours away.
I pace the leafy colonnade Where level branches of the plane Above me weave a roof of shade Impervious to the sun and rain.
At times a sudden rush of air Flutters the lazy leaves o'erhead, And gleams of sunshine toss and flare Like torches down the path I tread.
By Somariva's garden gate I make the marble stairs my seat, And hear the water, as I wait, Lapping the steps beneath my feet.
The undulation sinks and swells Along the stony parapets, And far away the floating bells Tinkle upon the fisher's nets.
Silent and slow, by tower and town The freighted barges come and go, Their pendent shadows gliding down By town and tower submerged below.
The hills sweep upward from the shore, With villas scattered one by one Upon their wooded spurs, and lower Bellaggio blazing in the sun.
And dimly seen, a tangled mass Of walls and woods, of light and shade, Stands beckoning up the Stelvio Pass Varenna with its white cascade.
I ask myself, Is this a dream? Will it all vanish into air? Is there a land of such supreme And perfect beauty anywhere?
Sweet vision! Do not fade away; Linger until my heart shall take Into itself the summer day, And all the beauty of the lake.
Linger until upon my brain Is stamped an image of the scene, Then fade into the air again, And be as if thou hadst not been.
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
# Birds of Passage (Collection)/Birds of Passage

Black shadows fall From the lindens tall, That lift aloft their massive wall Against the southern sky;
And from the realms Of the shadowy elms A tide-like darkness overwhelms The fields that round us lie.
But the night is fair, And everywhere A warm, soft vapor fills the air, And distant sounds seem near,
And above, in the light Of the star-lit night, Swift birds of passage wing their flight Through the dewy atmosphere.
I hear the beat Of their pinions fleet, As from the land of snow and sleet They seek a southern lea.
I hear the cry Of their voices high Falling dreamily through the sky, But their forms I cannot see.
O, say not so! Those sounds that flow In murmurs of delight and woe Come not from wings of birds.
They are the throngs Of the poet's songs, Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and wrongs, The sound of winged words.
This is the cry Of souls, that high On toiling, beating pinions, fly, Seeking a warmer clime,
From their distant flight Through realms of light It falls into our world of night, With the murmuring sound of rhyme.
# Birds of Passage (Collection)/Castles in Spain

How much of my young heart, O Spain, Went out to thee in days of yore! What dreams romantic filled my brain, And summoned back to life again The Paladins of Charlemagne The Cid Campeador!
And shapes more shadowy than these, In the dim twilight half revealed; Phoenician galleys on the seas, The Roman camps like hives of bees, The Goth uplifting from his knees Pelayo on his shield.
It was these memories perchance, From annals of remotest eld, That lent the colors of romance To every trivial circumstance, And changed the form and countenance Of all that I beheld.
Old towns, whose history lies hid In monkish chronicle or rhyme, Burgos, the birthplace of the Cid, Zamora and Valladolid, Toledo, built and walled amid The wars of Wamba's time;
The long, straight line of the high-way, The distant town that seems so near, The peasants in the fields, that stay Their toil to cross themselves and pray, When from the belfry at midday The Angelus they hear;
White crosses in the mountain pass, Mules gay with tassels, the loud din Of muleteers, the tethered ass That crops the dusty wayside grass, And cavaliers with spurs of brass Alighting at the inn;
White hamlets hidden in fields of wheat, White cities slumbering by the sea, White sunshine flooding square and street, Dark mountain-ranges, at whose feet The river-beds are dry with heat,-- All was a dream to me.
Yet something sombre and severe O'er the enchanted landscape reigned; A terror in the atmosphere As if King Philip listened near, Or Torquemada, the austere, His ghostly sway maintained.
The softer Andalusian skies Dispelled the sadness and the gloom; There Cadiz by the seaside lies, And Seville's orange-orchards rise, Making the land a paradise Of beauty and of bloom.
There Cordova is hidden among The palm, the olive, and the vine; Gem of the South, by poets sung, And in whose Mosque Ahmanzor hung As lamps the bells that once had rung At Compostella's shrine.
But over all the rest supreme, The star of stars, the cynosure, The artist's and the poet's theme, The young man's vision, the old man's dream,-- Granada by its winding stream, The city of the Moor!
And there the Alhambra still recalls Aladdin's palace of delight; Allah il Allah! through its halls Whispers the fountain as it falls, The Darro darts beneath its walls, The hills with snow are white.
Ah yes, the hills are white with snow, And cold with blasts that bite and freeze; But in the happy vale below The orange and pomegranate grow, And wafts of air toss to and fro The blossoming almond-trees.
The Vega cleft by the Xenil, The fascination and allure Of the sweet landscape chains the will; The traveller lingers on the hill, His parted lips are breathing still The last sigh of the Moor.
How like a ruin overgrown With flower's that hide the rents of time, Stands now the Past that I have known, Castles in Spain, not built of stone But of white summer clouds, and blown Into this little mist of rhyme!
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
# Birds of Passage (Collection)/Charles Sumner

written 1874
Garlands upon his grave, And flowers upon his hearse, And to the tender heart and brave The tribute of this verse.
His was the troubled life, The conflict and the pain, The grief, the bitterness of strife, The honor without stain.
Like Winkelried, he took Into his manly breast The sheaf of hostile spears, and broke A path for the oppressed.
Then from the fatal field Upon a nation's heart Borne like a warrior on his shield!-- So should the brave depart.
Death takes us by surprise, And stays our hurrying feet; The great design unfinished lies, Our lives are incomplete.
But in the dark unknown Perfect their circles seem, Even as a bridge's arch of stone Is rounded in the stream.
Alike are life and death, When life in death survives, And the uninterrupted breath Inspires a thousand lives.
Were a star quenched on high, For ages would its light, Still travelling downward from the sky, Shine on our mortal sight.
So when a great man dies, For years beyond our ken, The light he leaves behind him lies Upon the paths of men.
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
# Birds of Passage (Collection)/Children

Come to me, O ye children! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away.
Ye open the eastern windows, That look towards the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run.
In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, In your thoughts the brooklet's flow, But in mine is the wind of Autumn And the first fall of the snow.
Ah! what would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before.
What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood,--
That to the world are children; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below.
Come to me, O ye children! And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere.
For what are all our contrivings, And the wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks?
Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.
# Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Koehler, Alexander Daniel

Edition of 1892. This is a fictitious person. There is a remarkable disconnect in that the subject is described as a botanist, but his career involves work in astronomy and political studies. Alexander von Humboldt did not travel to America until May 1804: he is also mentioned in the fictitious entries of Andrè Herbette and Lorenz Kerckhove. There are also spelling errors in two of the titles of the alleged literary works: further, the titles of the alleged literary works have been partially copied from those of Karl von Martius and Louis-Vincent-Joseph Le Blond, comte de Saint-Hilaire, with the dates of publication altered.
​KOEHLER, Alexander Daniel (kuh-ler), German botanist, b. in Altenkirchen, Rügen island, 18 April, 1762; d. in Langenbranden, Würtemberg, 6 Dec., 1828. He inherited from his father an independent fortune, and occupied himself with botanical studies. A letter from Alexander von Humboldt, then in America, determined him to make that country the field of his studies for several years, and he went in 1801 to Santa Fé de Bogotá, and was for seven years a collaborator of José Mutis, the Spanish botanist. On his suggestion, Mutis established in 1801 an astronomical observatory in Santa Fé, and Koehler provided it with valuable instruments. After the death of Mutis in 1808, he resolved to finish part of the latter's work, and, going to Brazil, made a thorough study of the palm-trees of that country. The civil wars that desolated the northern part of South America at that time put a stop to his explorations, and, passing to Peru, he visited that country, studying also the political institutions of Chili before returning in 1816. He devoted the remainder of his life to the publication of the materials he had collected during his travels, and read several papers before the academies of sciences of Munich and Berlin, of which he was a corresponding member. He kept up also a correspondence with Humboldt, and furnished him with notes and information which the explorer utilized in the revised edition of his travels through America. Among his works are “Reise nach Brasilien” (Stuttgart, 1817); “Wanderungen in Peru und Chile” (2 vols., 1818); “Karte von dem panamischen Isthmus” (Munich. 1821); “Flora Brasiliensis” (4 vols., Berlin, 1821-3); “Flora Venezuliensis” (4 vols., 1822); “Studien über den öffentlichen Unterricht in Chile” (Stuttgart, 1823); “Reisen durch Nordwest-Venezuela” (Leipsic, 1824); “Genera et species palmarum” (Stuttgart, 1825); “Sertum Peruanum” (2 vols., Berlin, 1826); “Institutiones botanicæ” (Stuttgart, 1827); and “Conspectus polygalorum floræ Brasilieæ meridionalis” (2 vols., Berlin, 1827).
# Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Knortz, Karl

Edition of 1892.
​KNORTZ, Karl, author, b. in Garbenheim, Rhenish Prussia, 28 Aug., 1841. He was educated at the gymnasium of Wetzlau, and Heidelberg university, and came in 1863 to this country, where he engaged in teaching at Detroit in 1864-'8, at Oshkosh, Wis., in 1868-71, and in Cincinnati in 1871-'4. He then edited a German daily newspaper at Indianapolis, but since 1882 has resided in New York city, where he has devoted himself to literature. Mr. Knortz has done much to make American literature known and appreciated in his native country. He has published, besides translations of American poetry, “Märchen und Sagen der nordamerikanischen Indianer” (Jena, 1871); “Amerikanische Skizzen” (Halle, 1876); “American Shakespeare Bibliography” (Boston, 1876); “Humoristische Gedichte” (Baltimore, 1877); “Longfellow: Eine literarhistorische Studie” (Hamburg, 1879); “Aus dem Wigwam” (Leipsic, 1880); “Kapital und Arbeit in Amerika” (Zurich, 1881); “Aus der transatlantischen Gesellschaft” (Leipsic, 1882); “Staat und Kirche in Amerika” (Gotha, 1882); “Shakespeare in Amerika” (Berlin, 1882); “Amerikanische Lebensbilder” (Zurich, 1884); “Eines deutschen Matrosen Nordpolfahrten” (1885); “Representative German Poems,” with translations (New York, 1885); “Göthe und die Wertherzeit” (Zurich, 1885); “Brook Farm und Margareth Fuller” (New York, 1886); and “Gustav Seyffarth” (1886).
# Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Knox, Hugh

Edition of 1892.
​KNOX, Hugh, clergyman, b. in Ireland about 1733; d. in Santa Cruz, W. I., in October, 1790. He emigrated to this country in 1751, and found employment as assistant teacher under the Rev. John Rodgers at Middletown, Del. He fell in with frivolous companions, and on one occasion entertained them with an imitation of Dr. Rodgers's preaching. Overcome with remorse for this act of irreverence, he went to Princeton and applied for admission to the college, with the intention of devoting himself to the Christian ministry. He was graduated in 1754, and, after studying theology a year longer, was ordained, and went to Saba in the West Indies as pastor of the Reformed Dutch church on that island. In 1772 he resigned his charge in order to become pastor of the Presbyterians who had settled on the Danish island of Santa Cruz. Alexander Hamilton was placed under Mr. Knox's instruction in boyhood, and remained his life-long friend. He received the degree of D. D. from Glasgow university, and published two volumes of sermons (Glasgow, 1772).
# Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Knyphausen, Wilhelm von

Edition of 1892.
​KNYPHAUSEN, Baron Wilhelm von, soldier, b. in Lützberg, Germany, 4 Nov., 1716; d. in Cassel, 7 Dec., 1800. His father was colonel in a German regiment under the Duke of Marlborough. Knyphausen was educated in Berlin, entered the Prussian military service in 1734, and in 1775 became a general officer in the army of Frederick the Great. He came to this country as second in command of an army of 12,000 so-called “Hessians” under Gen. von Heister (q. v.). With 6,000 soldiers he set sail from Bremen for the port of New York, and on 18 Oct. landed at Staten island, after a passage of twenty weeks. In 1777 disagreements between Gen. Howe and Gen. von Heister caused the latter's recall, and gave Knyphausen the entire command of the German auxiliaries. He served in the battles of Long Island, White Plains, Fort Washington, Brandywine, and Monmouth. For several years the main body of his soldiery occupied the upper part of Manhattan island, and during the temporary absence of Sir Henry Clinton, in 1780, he was in command of the city. Bodily infirmity and the loss of an eye caused his retirement in 1782, when he returned to Europe, having, as he said, achieved neither glory nor advancement. At the end of his life Knyphausen became military governor of Cassel. He was a taciturn and discreet officer, who understood the temper of his troops, and rarely entered on hazardous exploits. His was a hireling army of recruits gathered from work-houses, and by impressment, and drilled in the use of arms on shipboard. As he frequently declared, on such forces a judicious commander could place little reliance; they dwindled less by death than by desertion.
# Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Kobbé, William August

Edition of 1900. Supplement
KOBBÉ, William August, soldier, b. in New York, 10 May, 1840. His father, William August Kobbé, a German-American, was for many years consul-general of the duchy of Nassau in New York city. His mother, Sarah Lord Sistare, was an American descended from a Spanish sea-captain whose vessel was early in the last century lost in the “Race,” off New London. The son studied mining engineering; enlisting in the war as a private in the 178th New York volunteers, and was promoted to captain. In 1866 he was commissioned a 2d lieutenant in the 19th U. S. infantry, and was brevetted lieutenant-colonel of volunteers and major U. S. army for gallantry at Nashville and at the capture of Fort Blakely, Alabama. He was transferred in 1872 to the 3d U. S. artillery, commanded a battalion of that regiment as major with distinction at Calacoon, Calumpit, and Malalos, and led the Rio Grande expedition in
the Philippines. In 1899 he was appointed colonel of the 35th regiment, U. S. volunteers, and later promoted brigadier-general. — His brother, Gustav, author, b. in New York city, 4 March, 1857, was educated at Wiesbaden, Germany, at Columbia, and the Columbia law-school. He is a contributor of short stories, criticisms on music and the drama, also articles of travel to the “Century” and “Scribner's.” Mr. Kobbé has published “Wagner's Ring of the Nibelung” (New York, 1887), which has passed through seven editions, and has also been reprinted in the several editions of his “Wagner's Life and Works” (2 vols., 1890); "Kobbé's New York and its Environs" (1891); “Plays for Amateurs” (1892); “My Rosary, and other Poems” (1897); and “Miriam” (Boston, 1898).
# Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Knox, James

Edition of 1892.
​KNOX, James, pioneer hunter. He was a resident of western Virginia, and in 1769 was the leader of forty-two men from southwest Virginia and North Carolina who met at Reedy creek in June and crossed through Cumberland gap westward for the purpose of hunting and trapping. Each had one or more horses, with arms and camp equipage. Fording the south fork of Cumberland river, they halted at what is since known as Price's meadow, near a flowing spring, six miles from Monticello, Wayne co., Ky., and there made a permanent camp for their supplies and skins, for deposit every five weeks. They hunted during the year over the country of Upper Green and Barren rivers, and found much of it open prairie covered with high grass. In October, 1769, Col. Knox with nine men sought fresher hunting-grounds northward. They met a party of friendly Cherokee Indians, whose leader, Captain Dick, directed them to the blue-grass region on the south side of Kentucky river. Following this direction, they came to a stream in the midst of this fertile region, and found game so abundant that they gave it the name of Dick's river, which it bears to the present day. Here they were on the borders of the country that was ranged over by Daniel Boone and his companions for the same two years, yet neither party knew of the other's presence in the wilderness. In 1774 Knox led his men 100 miles farther west, and built a camp and station for skins on a site nine miles east of Greensburg, on Green river, where they slew many thousands of bears, panthers, otters, beavers, deer, and other game. After over three years' absence, most of the party returned home, and were named and known afterward as the “long hunters,” from their prolonged absence. Drake's pond and lick, Bledsoe's lick, and Manseo's lick, were discovered and marked on this expedition, and each named after the finder. Col. Knox returned to Kentucky in 1775 and settled. For years afterward he figured in the civil and military events of the state, and in 1795-1800 was state senator for Lincoln county.