OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Kismet Rag

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 130/Issue 1682

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XV. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1682. — September 2, 1876. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXX. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | The Comte de Paris' Campaign on the Potomac, | Edinburgh Review, | 579 |
| II. | Carita. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of "Chronicles of Carlingford," "Zaidee," etc., Part VI., | Cornhill Magazine, | 593 |
| III. | When the Sea was Young, | Cornhill Magazine, | 597 |
| IV. | What She Came Through. By Sarah Tytler, author of "Lady Bell," etc., Part XIV., | Good Words, | 608 |
| V. | Wordsworth's Ethics, | Cornhill Magazine, | 615 |
| VI. | Sketch of a Journey across Africa. By Verney Lovett Cameron, Lieutenant Royal Navy. Part III., | Good Words, | 629 |
| VII. | Secret-Service Money under George I., | Academy, | 635 |
| VIII. | Eccentricity, | Good Words, | 636 |
| IX. | Resources of Servia and Bosnia, | Nature, | 639 |
POETRY. :
| The Seven-Nights' Watch, | 578 | When we are Parted, | 578 |
| One of the Sevens, | 578 | | |
| Miscellany, | Miscellany, | Miscellany, | 640 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 130/Issue 1682/One of the Sevens

* ONE OF THE SEVENS.
* "We spend our years as a tale that is told." — Ps. xc. 9.
* "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life." — Ps. xxiii. 6.
* Seven times ten — they came and fled,
* Fled as fleeth a morning dream;
* My tale is told, my say is said,
* I read the past by memory's beam.
* Seven times ten, with untold woe
* For sin unseen by all save One,
* For evil thoughts that come and go,
* For evil deeds, for good undone.
* I've mourned the loss of precious things,
* I've wept beside the honored dead,
* Health has flown and riches had wings,
* And thus the seventy years were sped.
* With wayward steps my path I trod,
* But oh! what mercies marked my way!
* The love that led my soul to God
* Has turned my darkness into day.
* Seven times ten; all fades not yet, —
* Sweet flowers, and fields, and books are mine,
* Dear friends are round my table set,
* And daily gifts of corn and wine.
* Safe hid beneath overshadowing wings,
* Age need not fear the winter blast;
* Sure watered by celestial springs',
* The path has verdure to the last.
* For countless gifts, for bounteous grace,
* Break forth, my soul, in songs of praise,
* To him whose love redeems our race,
* And crowns with blessing all our days.
* By him is every want supplied;
* And not alone from youth to age,
* In death we live, for he hath died
* To win our glorious heritage.
* S. W.
* Good Words.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 130/Issue 1681/My Treasures

* MY TREASURES.
* I count my treasures o'er and o'er
* Gifts of the past, a golden store,
* And time can give me nothing more.
* The little ring she used to wear,
* A shadow picture, sweet and fair,
* Dead violets, and a tress of hair.
* Frail keys, that ope to bygone time,
* I wander on and reach a clime
* Where bells of morning ever chime.
* There all my fair possessions lie,
* My castles that no wealth can buy
* Their golden summits in the sky.
* O youth, to feel death's breath of frost!
* O little hands too early crossed!
* Nor love nor faith can count you lost.
* H. A. Feuling.
* Good Samaritan.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 130/Issue 1681/The Lily of the Valley

* THE LILY OF THE VALLEY.
* She lifts to-day her fairy bells
* For balmy winds to sway,
* And round her cells the brown bee tells
* The music of the May.
* She treasures in her snowy cup
* The sunbeam's golden light,
* And brims the dainty chalice up
* With starry pearls of night.
* She calls my heart as in a trance
* To years long passed away;
* I feel once more the gentle glance
* That lit my life's young day.
* O blooms so sweet, the blooms she wore —
* And she as fair as they! —
* Your spell can give my heart no more
* The lily of its May!
* Hattie A. Feuling.
* N. Y. Evening Post.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 130/Issue 1681/To Kate

* TO KATE.
* Why does this feeling of unrest
* Deep rooted live within my breast?
* I have no reason to complain
* Of fickle fortune, and no stain
* Or memory of evil haunts me.
* What have I sown that I should reap
* The whirlwind, — that I cannot — sleep
* Or waking — ever be at ease?
* I look among my treasures rare,
* My treasures rich beyond compare,
* I search them idly through and through,
* And 'though I have but few, but few,
* The one of all to me most dear,
* Alas! I do not find it here.
* You ask what jewel have I lost,
* Of such immensity and cost,
* And who the culprit bold can be
* Who stole my peace of mind from me.
* A woman is the criminal.
* She has such eyes of heav'nly blue,
* That speak of heart and soul so true,
* I fear I cannot prove her guilt;
* For judge and jury will refuse
* To hear the pleading of my muse,
* To listen to a charge of theft
* From one of reason almost 'reft, —
* They'll not believe the story, mine,
* 'Gainst honest face and eyes as thine.
* T.
* Transcript.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 130/Issue 1681/A Water-Lily at Evening

* A WATER-LILY AT EVENING.
* Sleep, lily on the lake,
* Without one troubled dream
* Thy hushed repose to break,
* Until the morning beam
* Shall open thy glad heart again;
* To live its life apart from pain.
* So still is thy repose,
* So pure thy petals seem,
* As heaven would here disclose
* Its peace, and we might deem
* A soul in each white lily lay,
* Passionless, from the lands of day.
* Yet but a flower thou art,
* For angel ne'er or saint,
* Though kept on earth apart
* From every earthly taint,
* A life so passionless could know,
* Amid a world of human woe.
* F. W. B.
* Spectator.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 130/Issue 1682/Miscellany

​Electric Communications without Wires. — It would seem from recent experiments that it is perfectly possible to convey a message for a certain distance along the earth without any conducting wire whatever. But M. Th. Du Moncel has explained to the French Academy (May 8) that the idea of communication without wires is far from novel, having been experimentally tested thirty years ago, both in England and America. Thus, messages were sent from Gosport to Portsmouth (and, we believe, across to the Isle of Wight), a distance of about three kilometres.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 130/Issue 1681/A Summer's Ghost

* A SUMMER'S GHOST.
* In that old summer can you still recall
* The pomp with which the strong sun rose and set,
* How bright the moon- shone on the shining fields,
* What wild, sweet blossoms with the dew were wet?
* Can you still hear the merry robins sing,
* And see the brave red lilies gleam and glow,
* The waiting wealth of bloom, the reckless bees,
* That woo their wild-flower loves, and sting, and go?
* Canst hear the waves that round the happy shore
* Broke in soft joy, and told delusive tales —
* We go, but we return; love comes and goes;
* And eyes that watch see homeward-faring sails.
* "'Twas thus in other seasons?" Ah, may be!
* But I forgot them, and remembered this —
* A brief, warm season, and a fond, brief love,
* And cold, white winter after bloom and bliss.
* Victoria Magazine.
# Life of William Blake (1880), Volume 2/Prose writings

Edited and introduced by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
PROSE WRITINGS.
DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE.
PUBLIC ADDRESS.
SIBYLLINE LEAVES.
THE GHOST OF ABEL.
A VISION OF THE LAST JUDGMENT.
The Vision is almost as much a manifesto of opinion as either the Catalogue or Address. But its work is in a wider field, and one which, where it stretches beyond our own clear view, may not necessarily therefore have been a lost road to Blake himself. Certainly its grandeur and the sudden great things greatly said in it, as in all ​Blake's prose, constitute it an addition to our opportunities of communing with him, and one which we may prize highly.
The constant decisive words in which Blake alludes, throughout these writings, to the plagiarisms of his contemporaries, are painful to read, and will be wished away; but, still, it will be worth thinking whether their being said, or the need of their being said, is the greater cause for complaint. Justice, looking through surface accomplishments, greater nicety and even greater occasional judiciousness of execution, in the men whom Blake compares with himself, still perceives these words of his to be true. In each style of the art of a period, and more especially in the poetic style, there is often some one central initiatory man, to whom personally, if not to the care of the world, it is important that his creative power should be held to be his own, and that his ideas and slowly perfected materials should not be caught up before he has them ready for his own use. Yet, consciously or unconsciously, such an one's treasures and possessions are, time after time, while he still lives and needs them, sent forth to the world by others in forms from which he cannot perhaps again clearly claim what is his own, but which render the material useless to him henceforward. Hardly wonderful, after all, if for once an impetuous man of this kind is found raising the hue and cry, careless whether people heed him or no. It is no small provocation, be sure, when the gazers hoot you as outstripped in your race, and you know all the time that the man ahead, whom they shout for, is only a flying thief.
# Life of William Blake (1880), Volume 2/Prose writings/The Ghost of Abel

Appended to Sibylline Leaves in this edition.
THE GHOST OF ABEL.
A REVELATION IN THE VISIONS OF JEHOVAH.
Seen by William Blake.
Scene.—A rocky Country. Eve fainted over the dead body of Abel which lies near a grave. Adam kneels by her. Jehovah stands above.
(Eve revives.)
(A Voice is heard coming on.)
(Enter the Ghost of Abel.)
(They kneel before Jehovah.)
(Abel sinks down into the grave, from which arises Satan, armed in glittering scales, with a crown and a spear.)
(On each side a Chorus of Angels entering sing the following.)
(The curtain falls.) (1822. W. Blake's original stereotype was 1788.)
'On the skirt of a figure, rapid and "vehemently sweeping," engraved underneath (recalling that vision of Dion, made memorable by one of Wordsworth's noble poems) are inscribed these words:—"The voice of Abel's Blood." The fierce and strenuous flight of this figure is as the motion of one whose feet are swift to shed blood, and the dim face is full of hunger and sorrowful lust after revenge. The decorations are slight, but not ineffective; wrought merely in black and white. This small prose lyric has a value beyond the value of its occasional beauty and force of form; it is a brief, comprehensible expression of Blake's faith seen from its two leading sides; belief in vision and belief in mercy.'
(From A Critical Essay on William Blake, by Algernon Charles Swinburne, pp. 295-296, where The Ghost of Abel was first printed.)
# Life of William Blake (1880), Volume 2/Prose writings/Sibylline Leaves

The contents of this edition lists 'The Ghost of Abel'.
SIBYLLINE LEAVES.
On Homer's Poetry.
Every poem must necessarily be a perfect Unity, but why Homer's is peculiarly so I cannot tell: he has told the story of Bellerophon, and omitted the Judgment of Paris, which is not only a part, but a principal part, of Homer's subject. But when a work has unity, it is as much so in a part as in the whole. The torso is as much a unity as the Laocoon. As unity is the cloak of folly, so goodness is the cloak of knavery. Those who will have unity exclusively in Homer come out with a moral like a sting in the tail. Aristotle says characters are either good or bad: now, goodness or badness has nothing to do with character. An apple-tree, a pear-tree, a horse, a lion, are characters; but a good apple-tree or a bad is an apple-tree still. A horse is not more a lion for being a bad horse—that is its character: its goodness or badness is another consideration.
It is the same with the moral of a whole poem as with the moral goodness of its parts. Unity and morality are secondary considerations, and belong to Philosophy, and not to Poetry—to exception, and not to rule—to accident, and not to substance. The ancients called it eating of the Tree of Good and Evil.
The Classics it is, the Classics, and not Goths or monks, that desolate Europe with wars.
On Virgil.
Sacred truth has pronounced that Greece and Rome, as Babylon and Egypt, so far from being parents of Arts and Sciences, as they pretend, were destroyers of all Art. Homer, Virgil, and Ovid, confirm this, and make us reverence the Word of God, the only light of Antiquity that remains unperverted by war. Virgil, in the Eneid, Book VI. line 848, says: 'Let others study Art. Rome has somewhat better to do—namely, War and Dominion.'
Rome and Greece swept art into their maw, and destroyed it. A warlike State never can produce art. It will rob and plunder, and accumulate into one place, and translate, and copy, and buy and sell, and criticise, but not make. Grecian is mathematic form. Mathematic form is eternal in the reasoning memory. Living form is eternal existence. Gothic is living form.
# Legends of Old Testament Characters/Chapter 31

XXXI.
JETHRO.
As has already been related, Jethro formed one of the council of Pharaoh till he found that his incantations had no effect on the Israelites. He escaped from Egypt before Job; for he had found in the palace of the king the staff of Joseph which had been cut from the Tree of Life, and therewith he hied him into the land of Midian, along with his daughter Zipporah.
According to Mussulman tradition, Jethro, whom the Arabs call Schohair or Schohaib, was a great prophet; and he was sent by God to the Midianites to call them to repentance and the rejection of polytheism. Jethro was old and nearly blind. He preached to the people, and exhorted them with many words and for a long season, but all his words were in vain; the Midianites would not be converted, and at length they openly accused him of being a false prophet, and denied that God had sent him.
Therefore God gave over this nation to destruction. He sent a fiery breath upon the land, and the people could not bear the great heat, and retired into the fields, where there was shadow; for God sent a cloud to hide the face of the sun, and it cast a blot of shade upon the fields. But there were old men and women and little children, and the sick who could not leave the city and take refuge in the shade.
​Slowly the cloud came down from heaven, like the lid of a saucepan, and covered all the Midianites that were in the field, and the cloud was of fire, and they fried "as fish fry in an oven." Then the angel Gabriel, gave a great shout, and all that were in the city, saving Jethro and his family, died of fright when they heard his cry.
Then Jethro lived in the land of Midian till Moses came to him out of Egypt.
# Let Us Build a Little Nest

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Song from the musical Head over Heels.
[Verse]
    MITZI. Let us play the game of hide-and-seek,
    If you promise me that you will not peek,
    And I will do the hiding.
    KIDDIES. Tell us first where you'll be hiding.
    MITZI. That's not fair for cheating is a shame,
    We will have to play some other game.
    GIRL. What's it's name?
    BOY. What's it's name?
    MITZI. It's a game where we can hug and kiss.
    BOY. Me for this.
    GIRL. Oh what bliss.
    MITZI. It's a game too good to miss,
    I played it years and years ago,
    With someone whom I used to know.
[Refrain]
    Let us build a little nest
    While we're here together,
    Like little birdies do
    When April skies are blue.
    (SHE) We can snuggle up and rest
    In the wint'ry weather
    (BOTH) And if we're good as little birdies should be
    Then may be we can have a family.
[Verse]
    MITZI. Let's pretend now that it's late at night,
    And then I come in and turn out your light,
    'Cause I am Mister Sandman.
    KIDDIES. Ain't never was no Sandman.
    MITZI. Then I'll tuck you in your trundle bed,
    And like dear mama kiss each sleepy head.
    GIRL. Who said?
    BOY. Sleepy head.
    MITZI. If your ma should spank you would you cry?
    BOY. Bet your life.
    GIRL. Bet your life.
    MITZI. And believe me so would I,
    Of all the games I like one best,
    The one where we can build a nest.
[Refrain]
    Let us build a little nest
    While we're here together,
    Like little birdies do
    When April skies are blue.
    We can snuggle up and rest
    In the wint'ry weather
    (BOTH) And if we're good as little birdies should be
    Then may be we can have a family.
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 1948, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 75 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.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Let Saints on Earth in Concert Sing

Let saints on earth in concert sing With those whose work is done; For all the servants of our King In earth and heav'n are one.
One family, we dwell in Him, One Church, above, beneath, Though now divided by the stream, The narrow stream of death.
One army of the living God, To His command we bow; Part of His host hath cross'd the flood, And part are crossing now.
Ten thousand to their endless home This solemn moment fly; And we are to the margin come, And we expect to die.
Oh that we now may grasp our Guide! Lord, when the word is given, Bid death's cold flood its waves divide, And land us all in heaven!
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1660/The Old Friends

THE OLD FRIENDS.
Where are they scattered now,
The old, old friends?
One made her dwelling where the maples glow,
And mighty streams through solemn forests flow,
But never, from that pine-crowned land of snow,
A message sends.
Some meet me oft amid
Life's common ways;
And then, perchance, a word or smile declares
That warm hearts throb beneath their load of cares;
For love grows on, like wheat among the tares,
Till harvest days.
"But some are fall'n asleep;"
The words are sweet!
Oh, friends at rest beneath the blessed sod,
My feet still tread the weary road ye trod
Ere yet your loving souls went back to God!—
When shall we meet?
Oh, thou divinest Friend,
When shall it be
That I may know them in their garments white?
And see them with a new and clearer sight,
Mine old familiar friends — made fair and bright,
Like unto Thee!
    Sunday Magazine.Sarah Doudney
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1661

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XIV. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1661. — April 8, 1876. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXIX. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | Bishop Butler and the Zeit-Geist. By Matthew Arnold, | Contemporary Review, | 67 |
| II. | The Dilemma. Part XXIII., | Blackwood's Magazine, | 78 |
| III. | Natural Religion. Part V., | Macmillan's Magazine, | 85 |
| IV. | An Unimportant Person. Part II., | Blackwood's Magazine, | 92 |
| V. | Mr. Thackeray's Sketches, | Blackwood's Magazine, | 98 |
| VI. | A Negro Methodist Conference, | Cornhill Magazine, | 106 |
| VII. | John Forster. By Blanchard Jerrold, | Gentleman's Magazine, | 113 |
| VIII. | Maxims and Reflections. From the German of Goethe, | Fraser's Magazine, | 117 |
| IX. | The Tree of Knowledge, | Saturday Review, | 125 |
| X. | The Art of Luxury, | Belgravia, | 127 |
POETRY. :
| Rest in the Grave, | 66 | Edelweiss, | 66 |
| The Face of my Mistress, | 66 | | |
| Miscellany, | Miscellany, | Miscellany, | 128 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1660/Miscellany

​The Date of Easter. — We revert to this subject with the view to reproduce the arithmetical rule to find Easter Sunday in the Gregorian calendar, which was first given by the eminent German mathematician and astronomer Gauss, in Zach's Monatliche Correspondenz, 1800.
| 1. | From 1800 to 1899 put m = 23, n = 4.   "  1900 to 2099 " m = 24, n = 5. | |
| 2. | Divide the given year by 19, and call the remainder | a. |
| 3. | Divide the given year by 4, and call the remainder | b. |
| 4. | Divide the given year by 7, and call the remainder | c. |
| 5. | Add m to 19 times a, divide the sum by 30, and call the remainder | d. |
| 6. | Add together n, twice b, four times c, and six times d, divide the sum by 7, and call the remainder | e. |
Then Easter Sunday is March 22 + d + e, or d + e - 9 of April.
To apply this rule to the present year, we have —
| 1. | m = 23; n = 4. | |
| 2. | For ${\tfrac {1876}{19}}\,$ remainder is 14 | a. |
| 3. | For ${\tfrac {1876}{4}}\,$ remainder is 0 | b. |
| 4. | For ${\tfrac {1876}{7}}\,$ remainder is 0 | c. |
| 5. | For ${\tfrac {23+19\times 14}{30}}\,$ remainder is 19 | d. |
| 6. | For ${\tfrac {4+0+0+6\times 19}{7}}\,$ remainder is 6 | e. |
And Easter Sunday is March 22 + 19 + 6 = March 47 or April 16; or 19 + 6 - 9 of April = April 16.
Note. — The following are the two exceptions to the above rule: —
* If Easter Sunday is brought out April 26, we must take April 19.
* If Easter Sunday results on April 25 by the rule, the 18th must be substituted when the given year, increased by one, and then divided by 19, leaves a remainder greater than 11.
Nature.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1660/His Love will Carry me

HIS LOVE WILL CARRY ME.
Though from my gaze earth's light is fading fast,
Yet from the gathering darkness doth arise
A land, in solemn beauty unsurpassed,
Opening before mine eyes.
I see the goodly city clearer grow,
With jasper walls and pearl gates opening wide;
Lo! from its towers a heavenly strain doth flow,
And over me doth glide.
There dwell the saints of old, who yearned to see
Those tearless mansions! and through fiery flame
Have passed triumphant, bearing willingly
The cross for His dear name.
And other blessed sights I see, too fair
For mortal tongue to say: the voice grows cold,
And vainly tries those glories to declare,
Which now to me unfold!
But fairest, brightest to mine eye doth rise
The Lamb once slain, in glorious beauty crowned;
Wiping away the tears from weeping eyes,
Healing His people's wound.
There, O beloved ones, my place shall be,
Close by His side, in deepest love to sweep
My golden harp-strings through eternity
In songs so full and deep!
Say, would ye wish me back again from this
All-blessed life? nay, let your tears cease;
He calleth me at last to rest and bliss,
Let me depart in peace. Golden Hour.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1660/"Violet delicate, sweet"

Violet delicate, sweet,
Down in the deep of the wood,
Hid in thy still retreat,
Far from the sound of the street,
Man and his merciless mood:—
Safe from the storm and the heat,
Breathing of beauty and good
Fragrantly, under thy hood
Violet.
Beautiful maid, discreet,
Where is the mate that is meet,
Meet for thee—strive as he could— Yet will I kneel at thy feet,
Fearing another one should,
Violet! Spectator.W. C. Monkhouse