OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Letters of a Javanese princess/Chapter 12

XII
7th October, 1900.
I CALMLY bide my time. When it comes then men shall see that I am no soulless creature, but a human being with a head and a heart, who can think and feel. It is frightfully egotistical of me to make you a sharer in every thing that concerns me. It brings light to me, but to you, it must be vexation! Everything for myself, nothing for you. I long to tell you everything simply because I love you so much. Draw back from me, thrust me from your thoughts, from your heart, forget me, let me struggle alone, for God, you do not know into what a wasps' nest you stick your hand, when you reach it out to me!
Let me alone, I shall only be thankful for your sympathy and because you have crossed the path of my life and caused sunshine and flowers to fall across it. Let our meeting be as that of ships on the wide ocean that pass in the dark night. A meeting—a blithe greeting — a foamy track through the smooth water and then—no more! But I fear—I know that you could never go by like that—even though you might wish it. Let us never speak of it again. ··········
A little while ago in talking to Mama, about something of interest to women, I told her what I had said so many times before, that nothing attracted me more, that nothing was more longed for by me than to be ​able to fly alone upon my own wings. Mama said, "But there is no one now, not among us, who does that!"
"Then it is time that some one should do it."
"But you know very well that every beginning is difficult. That the fate of every innovator is hard. That misunderstanding, disappoint ment on top of disappointment, ridicule, all await you; do you realize that?"
"I know it. But it is not today nor yesterday that these ideas have come to me ; they have lived in me for years."
"But what will come of it for yourself? Will it bring you contentment, make you happy?" "I know that the way I wish to go is difficult, full of thorns, thistles, pitfalls; it is stormy, rough, slippery and it is — free! And even though I shall not be happy after I have reached my goal, though I may give way before it is half reached, I shall die gladly, for the path will then have been broken, and I shall have helped to clear the way which leads to freedom and independence for the native woman. I shall feel a great content because the parents of other girls who wished to become independent would never be able to say 'There is no one, not among us, who does that.'"
Strange, but I am not uneasy or disturbed; I am calm and full of courage; only my stupid, foolish heart feels sick.
# Letters of a Javanese princess/Chapter 13

XIII
October, 1900.
I WISH to prepare myself to teach the two grades, lower and higher; and also to take courses in hygiene, bandaging and the care of the sick.
Later I should like to take a language course. First to learn thoroughly my own mother tongue. I want to go on with my studies in Holland, because Holland seems to me in all respects a more suitable place of preparation for the great task which I would undertake.
How shall we greet each other when we meet at last? I know exactly what you will say to me at first: "But child how stout you have grown!"
And I shall whisper between two hugs, "I have grown old, both outwardly and inwardly, but that little spot in my heart where love is written in golden letters remains the same, for ever young."
# Lovely Jean (1820)/The death of Wolfe

THE DEATH OF WOLFE.
In a mouldering cave a wretched retreat, Britannia sat wasted with care: She wept for her Wolfe, then exclaim'd against Fate, and gave herself up to despair. The walls of her cell she had sculptur'd around, With th' exploits of her favorite son; Nay, even the dust, as it lay on the ground, Was engrav'd with some deeds he had done.
The fire of the gods from his chrystaline throne, Beheld the disconsolate dame, Being mov'd with her tears, sent Mercury down. And these were the tidings that came: "Britannia, forbear, not a sigh nor a tear, For thy Wolfe, so deservedly lov'd ; Thy grief shall be chang'd into tumults of joy, For Wolfe is not dead, but remov'd.
​"The sons of the earth, the proud giants of old, Have fled from their darksome abodes; And, such is the news that in heaven is told, They are marching to war with their gods. A council was held in the chamber of Jove, And this was their final decree; That Wolfe should be call'd to the army above, And the charge was entrusted to me.
"To the plains of Quebec with the orders I flew; Wolfe beg’d for a moment's delay; He cry'd, 'Oh; forbear, let me victory hear, And then the command I'll obey.' With a dark'ning film'd encompass'd his eyes, And bore him away in an urn; Lest the fondness he bore to his own native shore Might tempt him again to return."
FINIS.
# Lovely Jean (1820)/The pitcher

THE PITCHER.
It's not yet day, it's not yet day, then why should we leave good liquor, 'Till the sun beams around us play, we'll sit and take another pitcher, The silver moon she shines so bright, she shines most bright—I swear by Nature, That if my minute-glass goes right, we've time to drink the other pitcher. It's not yet day, &c.
They tell me if I'd work all day, and sleep by night, I’d grow the richer, But what is all this world’s delight, compar'd with mirth, my friend & pitcher It’s not yet day it's not yet day, then why should we leave good liquor, 'Till the sun beams around us play, we’ll sit and take the other pitcher. I'ts not yet day, &c.
​They tell me Tom has got a wife. whose portion will make him the richer,| I envy not his happy life, give me good health, my friend & pitcher. It's not yet day, it's not yet day, then why should we leave good liquor, 'Till the sun beams around us play, we'll sit and take the other pitcher. It's not yet day, &c.
# Lovely Molly of the county of Down

Dated from external evidence.
Lovely Molly
Ο FΤ Η Ε
County of Down.
To which are added,
Three Jolly PAPER-MAKERS.
There's my Thumb I'll ne'er beguile Thee.
OXFORDSHIRE NANCY.
The MARRIED MAN.
Entered according to Order.
* Lovely Molly of the county of Down
* Three jolly paper-makers
* There's my thumb I'll ne'er beguile thee
* Oxfordshire Nancy
* The married man
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
# Lovely Molly of the county of Down/The married man

Dated from external evidence.
THE MARRIED MAN.
To its own proper Tune.
I Am married, and happy; with wonder hear this, ye rovers and rakes of the age, Who laugh at the motion of conjugal bliſs, and who only looſe pleaſures engage.
​You may laugh; but, believe me, you're all in the wrong, when you merrily marriage deride; For to marriage the permanent pleaſures belong, and in them we can only confide.
The joys which from lawleſs connections ariſe, are fugitive—never ſincere; Oft ſtolen with haſte, or ſnatch'd by ſurprize, interrupted by doubts, and by fear.
But thoſe which in legal attachments we find, when the heart is with innocence pure, Is from ev'ry imbitt'ring reflection reſin'd, and to life's lateſt hour will endure.
The life which you boaſt of, deſerves not that name, true love is with ſentiment join'd; But yours is a paſſion, a feveriſh flame, rais'd without the conſent of the mind.
When, dreading confinement, ye miſtreſſes hire, with this, and with that ye are cloy'd; Ye are led, and miſled, by a flatt'ring falſe fire, and are oft by that fire deſtroy'd.
If you aſk me from ⟨whence⟩ my felicity flows, my anſwer is ſhort—"From a Wife, Who for chearſulneſs, ſcnſe, and good nature I choſe, which are beauties that charm us for life."
To make home the ſeat of perpetual delight, ev'ry hour each ſtudies to ſeize; And we find ourſelves happy from morning to night by our mutual endeavours to pleaſe.
F I N I S.
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
# Lovely Jean (1820)/The bush aboon Traquair

THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR.
Hear me ye nymphs and every swain, I'll tell how Peggy grieves me, ​Though this I lanquish, this complain, alas she ne’er believes me My vows and sighs like silent air, unheaded never move her, At the bonny bush aboon Traquair, 'twas there I first did love her.
That day she smil'd and made me glad; no maid seem'd ever kinder, I thought myself the luckiest lad, so sweetly there to find her: I try’d to soothe my am'rous flame, in words that I thought tender, I more than pass'd I'm not to blame: I mean not to offend her.
Yet now she scornful flees the plain, the fields we then frequented. Where’ere she meets she shows disdain, she looks as ne'er aquainted. The bonny bush bloom'd fair in May, its sweets I’ll ay remember, But now her sweets it decay, it fades as in December.
Ye rural powers who hear my strains, why thus should Peggy grieve me, Oh! make her partners in my pains, then iether smiles relieve me. If not, my love will turn despair, my passion no more tender; I’ll leave the bush aboon Traquair, to lonely woods I'll wander.
# Lovely Molly of the county of Down/Lovely Molly of the county of Down

Dated from external evidence.
Lovely Molly of the County of Down.
DRAW near each lover, till I diſcover, the grief and anguiſh that fills my heart, My pain is really, I feel it daily, and love is the cauſe of my woful ſmart; By a young creature the pride of nature, my heart I fear is for ever bound; And the young fair has my heart enſnar'd, is call'd lovely Molly of the County of Down.
I wiſh that nature had never fram'd her. or that I never did yet hehold Her ſlender waiſt and riſing breaſt, and her hair like ringlets of ſhining gold: Then I would be from all ſorrow free, did I never ſee her either ſmile or frown; But now in anguiſh I pine and languiſh, for lovely Molly of the County of Down.
Her lovely features, excels all creatures, that ever nature as yet did frame, Her voice melodious, her frame commodious, her kin and ſnow for colour is the ſame. Diana, Venus, or Grecian Helen, or Cleopatra of high renown, Could not compare, nor was ne'er ſo fair as ſweet lovely Molly of the County of Down.
In vain I fought her, being the daughter, of a rich farmer in the Iſle of Kail; And now a young 'Squire he does her admire, which is the reaſon makes me bewail. ​My joys are all fled, ſince ſhe's going to wed with that young 'Squire of high renown; And ſince it is ſo, I muſt bid adieu unto lovely Molly and the County of Down.
Through woods and mountains, and rural fountains, ſhall be the places I now will roam, Where the purling rills, that the rock diſtils, they will ſeem to weep, when they hear the moan That I do make, for my true love's ſake, and each word I ſpeak the valleys will reſound, While I'm complaining for that fair female, ſweet lovely Molly of the County of Down.
I am now like David, ſore perſecuted, by them he lov'd, and would wiſh to ſerve, But the cruel ſpirit, deſpiſing merit, they gave him uſage he did not deſerve; It's ſo by me, for that lovely ſhe, for the ſake of riches left me alone, To pine and grieve, while I've time to live, for ſweet lovely Molly of the County of Down.
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
# Lovely Molly of the county of Down/Oxfordshire Nancy

Dated from external evidence.
OXFORDSHIRE NANCY.
To its own proper Tune.
THO’ I’m ſlim, & am young, & was lively, and fair, Could ſing a good ſong, and in others kill care, Yet I’m ſurely bewitch’d, for I can’t drive away, What makes me ſo reſtleſs by night and by day. In vain I perplex my poor fancy, To find out the grief, But alas! no relief! Heigh ho! what can be the matter with Nancy?
​With my head on my pillow I ſeek for repoſe, Which comes to the wretched, and ſoftens their woes; But ſleepleſs, though blameleſs, I ſigh through the night; And the day can't relieve me, though never ſo bright. In vain I perplex my poor fancy, &c.
So evil a ſpirit that haunts a poor maid, By the grave ſons of phyſic can never be laid; If a youth vers'd in magic would take me in hand, I'm ſure of a cure, if he waves but his wand. In vain I perplex my poor fancy, &c.
А young Oxford ſcholar knows well my ſad caſe, For he look'd in my eyes, and read over my face; So learned he talk'd, that I felt at my heart, He muſt have great ſkill in the magical art. In vain I perplex my poor fancy, &c.
O ſend for this ſcholar, and let him preſcribe, He'll do me more good than the medical tribe: Then the roſe with the lily again ſhall appear, And my heart, now ſo heavy, dance thro' the whole year. No more I'll perplex my poor fancy, To find out the grief, For he'll ſoon bring relief, Heigh ho! he knows what's the matter with Nancy.
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
# Lovely Jean (M. Randall)

Scottish chapbook
* Lovely Jean (1820)
* Lovley Jean (1820)
# Lovely Jean (1820)/The lass in yon town

THE LASS IN YON TOWN.
O wat ye wha's in yon town, Ye see the e'ening sun upon? The dearest maid's in yon town, His setting beams e'er shone upon. Now haply down yon gay green shaw, She wanders by yon spreading tree; How blest ye birds that round her sing, Ye catch the glances o' her ee. How blest ye birds that round her sing, And welcome in the blooming year; But doubly welcome is the spring, The season to my Jeanie dear.
The sun blinks blythe on yon town, Amang the broomy braes sae green; But my delights in yon town, And dearest pleasure, is my Jean. Without my fair, not a' the charms O' Paradise could yield me joy; But gie me Jeanie in my arms, And welcome Lapland's dreary sky My cave wad be a lover's bower, Tho' raging winter rent the air; And she a lovely little flower, That I wad tent and shelter there.
O sweet is she in yon town, The sinking sun's gane down upon; ​The dearest maid's in yon town, His setting beam e'er shone upon; If angry fate is sworn my foe, And suffering I am doom'd to bear, I’d careless quit ought else below, But spare, oh! spare my Jeanie dear. For while life’s dearest blood runs warm, My thoughts frae her shall ne'er depart, For as she's lovely in her form. She has the truest, kindest heart.
# Lovely Molly of the county of Down/There's my thumb I'll ne'er beguile thee

Dated from external evidence.
There's my Thumb I'll ne'er beguile thee.
MY ſweeteſt May, let love incline thee, T'accept a heart which he deſigns thee, And as your conſtant lave, regard it, Syne for its faithfulneſs reward it. ​'Tis proof a-ſhot to birth or money, But yields to what is ſweet and bonny, Receive it then with a kiſs and a ſmily, There’s my thumb it will ne'er beguile thee.
How tempting ſweet theſe lips of thine are? Thy boſom white, and legs ſae fine are, That when in pools, I ſee thee clean 'em; They carry awa’ my heart between ’em. I wiſh, and I wiſh when it gaes duntin, O gin I had thee on a mountain, Though kith and kin and a’ ſhould revile thee, There’s my thumb I’ll ne’er beguile thee.
Alane through flow’ry hows I dander, Tearing my flocks left they ſhould wander, Gin thou'll gae alang, I’ll dawt thee gaylie, And gi’e thee my thumb I’ll ne’er beguile thee. O my dear laſſie, it is but daſſin, To haud thy wooer up ay niff naſſin, That na, na, na, I bate it moſt vilely, O ſay, Yes, and I’ll ne’er beguile thee.
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
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 126/Issue 1628/Miscellany

​Dominica, which was formerly one of the chief coffee-producing countries, has of late years almost entirely ceased to grow the plant. The capabilities of the island, however, are apparently so great, not only for the cultivation of coffee, but also for many other food products, that the attention of the authorities has been directed to the matter, and the result is that Mr. Prestoe, of the Botanic Gardens, Trinidad, has been commissioned to examine and report on the prospects of the island generally, and the best means of developing its resources. We anxiously await the details of Mr. Prestoe's report upon an island so fertile and beautiful as Dominica, but which has, no doubt, through want of European capital and energy, been allowed to drift almost into an unprofitable waste.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 126/Issue 1629/Answered

* ANSWERED.
* Not in my way nor at my time
* My heart's petitions answer gain;
* I ask, and all my days are full
* Of longing that I may attain.
* "This time," I cry, "do not delay;
* Give me the boon I ask to-day."
* But opportunity goes by.
* And while I pray my lips are fed
* With something that I have not asked.
* Nay, what I wanted not, instead.
* But still the food is sweet, I find.
* And leaves no taste of gall behind.
* The Master's hand has blessed the gift.
* And so it must be good for me;
* And yet my heart goes sighing still
* For that which I had hoped to see.
* No pain or labour would I spare
* If he would only grant this prayer.
* I see the hands of others filled
* With that which I have been denied;
* And they care not, but scorn perchance.
* Because they are so well supplied.
* I see and pray {whate'er my quest),
* "Lord, let me know when I am blest!"
* I wander on, nor e'er forget
* The treasure that I crave the most.
* And think "Perhaps it is too late,
* All opportunity is lost;"
* When lo! I see the blessing sweet
* Is lying, fair, beneath my feet!
* Belle W. Cooke.
* Independent.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 126/Issue 1628/The Fairy Shell

* THE FAIRY SHELL.
* One day, when wandering on the shore
* That once was ruled by Marinell,
* I found within a clefted rock
* A strangely twisted, curious shell
* With spiral whorls of pearly white,
* And hollows tinged with roseate light.
* This shell possessed a wondrous power,
* For, placed against the listener's ear.
* He heard, though gentle, faint, and low,
* The tones of those he held most dear;
* Though parted far by land or wave,
* The faithful shell an echo gave.
* "Oh, happy gift to man," said I;
* "More precious than the painter's art;
* How oft shalt thou, in distant climes,
* Console the ever-faithful heart,
* Bring back the cherished voice again,
* And take from absence half its pain."
* "Vain are thy thoughts," a nymph replied;
* "For those who own it will lament
* That never, through its echoes faint.
* Can tidings from the loved be sent:
* The distant sound is only caught,
* But never word or message brought.
* "'Twill only waken yearnings vain;
* 'Twill only pierce the heart anew,
* And bring to mind with tenfold pain
* The anguish of the last adieu.
* When all is lost beyond recall,
* 'Tis better far a veil should fall."
* She ceased. I turned, and threw the shell
* Beneath the tossing, foaming tide;
* Too well can memory waken grief,
* That man should seek for aught beside.
* Love needs it not; for love can last
* When all the things of time are past.
* Chambers' Journal.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 126/Issue 1628/The Happy Man

* THE HAPPY MAN.
* A PARAPHRASE.
* Two sapphires are thy two blue eyes
* So lovely and so sweet;
* Thrice happy is the happy man
* Whom lovingly they greet.
* Thy heart, it is a diamond
* That noble lightning throws;
* Thrice happy is the happy man
* For whom it throbs and glows.
* And rubies are thy crimson lips,
* None lovelier might one reach;
* Thrice happy is the happy man
* Who gets of them love-speech.
* If I but knew the happy man.
* And met that favoured one
* Alone, alone in the green woods.
* His happiness were done!
* Tinsley's Magazine.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 126/Issue 1629

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XI. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1629. — August 28, 1875. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXVI. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | Lucrezia Borgia, | Edinburgh Review, | 515 |
| II. | Fated to be Free. By Jean Ingelow. Part XIV., | Good Words, | 532 |
| III. | Wind Myths, | Contemporary Review, | 544 |
| IV. | The Dilemma. Part VII., | Blackwood's Magazine, | 549 |
| V. | A Chapter of University History. By the Rev. Mark Pattison. Part II., | Macmillan's Magazine, | 561 |
| VI. | The Newest African Project, | Spectator, | 566 |
| VII. | Retorts Courteous, | Graphic, | 568 |
| VIII. | The Mushroom, | National Food and Fuel Reformer, | 569 |
| IX. | Unbidden Guests, | Queen, | 571 |
| X. | The Late Bishop Thirlwall, | Spectator, | 572 |
| XI. | The Swine-herd of Gadara, | Blackwood's Magazine, | 574 |
POETRY. :
| Pansy, | 514 | Thou and I, | 514 |
| Answered, | 514 | The Swine-herd of Gadara, | 574 |
| Miscellany, | Miscellany, | Miscellany, | 576 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 126/Issue 1628/Mignonette

* MIGNONETTE.
* Within the sense of touch and sight,
* They lie before me as I write.
* These subtle-scented flowers;
* Their little tufts of golden green,
* With flecks of ruddy brown between,
* All wet with summer showers.
* I saw them but an hour ago.
* With sister bunches all a-row.
* And rosebuds white and red;
* And dark carnations, spicy sweet,
* Borne westward thro' the busy street.
* Upon a flower-girl's head.
* The sudden summer shower drew forth
* From my one simple pennyworth.
* The half-evanished bloom;
* The fading tufts grew green again,
* And breathed, in answer to the rain,
* A beautiful perfume.
* How well their silent beauties grace
* The dulness of this dingy place,
* My lonely working-room!
* I drop my pen this summer day.
* And fancy bears me far away,
* Where other posies bloom.
* To garden borders thickly set
* With pansy, lily, mignonette,
* And all sweet flowers that blow;
* Where we two in the sunshine sit,
* While butterflies around us flit,
* And brown bees come and go.
* The lark sings high, in heaven above,
* Its thrilling strain of happy love.
* While we sit still below;
* Each heart can feel the other beat.
* But neither breaks the silence sweet,
* With whispered "Yes" or "No."
* Ah, me! since then what months of pain
* Ah, me! what months of sun and rain
* Must run, ere I can see
* Another of those sunshine hours,
* And hear among the summer flowers
* How one remembers me.
* But love is mine, how strong and true,
* And hope springs green, dear flowers, as you.
* I murmur not at fate;
* While for the greatest good of all,
* For years, though shine or shadow fall,
* I am content to wait.
* All The Year Round.