OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems (Elliott)/Thoughts

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful white cloud in the sky. A white moon came floating by with a little yellow star.
They went into the cloud and there they found a beautiful casket, made of shells and diamonds.
They opened it and found a beautiful maiden. But she was dead.
They took her down to earth and gave her to the fairies and the fairies made her alive. Her name was Psyche.
When you die, you shall be put in the same casket and you shall have a happy life in the sky.
Note: Sometime after having been told the Greek legend of Psyche (the Soul).
# Poems (Emerson, 1847)/Bacchus

BACCHUS.
Bring me wine, but wine which never grew In the belly of the grape, Or grew on vine whose tap-roots, reaching through Under the Andes to the Cape, Suffered no savor of the earth to scape.
Let its grapes the morn salute From a nocturnal root, Which feels the acrid juice Of Styx and Erebus; And turns the woe of Night, By its own craft, to a more rich delight.
We buy ashes for bread; We buy diluted wine; Give me of the true,— ​Whose ample leaves and tendrils curled Among the silver hills of heaven, Draw everlasting dew; Wine of wine, Blood of the world, Form of forms, and mould of statures, That I intoxicated, And by the draught assimilated, May float at pleasure through all natures; The bird-language rightly spell, And that which roses say so well.
Wine that is shed Like the torrents of the sun Up the horizon walls, Or like the Atlantic streams, which run When the South Sea calls.
Water and bread, Food which needs no transmuting, Rainbow-flowering, wisdom-fruiting ​Wine which is already man, Food which teach and reason can.
Wine which Music is,— Music and wine are one,— That I, drinking this, Shall hear far Chaos talk with me; Kings unborn shall walk with me; And the poor grass shall plot and plan What it will do when it is man. Quickened so, will I unlock Every crypt of every rock.
I thank the joyful juice For all I know;— Winds of remembering Of the ancient being blow, And seeming-solid walls of use Open and flow.
Pour, Bacchus! the remembering wine; Retrieve the loss of me and mine! ​Vine for vine be antidote, And the grape requite the lote! Haste to cure the old despair,— Reason in Nature's lotus drenched, The memory of ages quenched; Give them again to shine; Let wine repair what this undid; And where the infection slid, A dazzling memory revive; Refresh the faded tints, Recut the aged prints, And write my old adventures with the pen Which on the first day drew, Upon the tablets blue, The dancing Pleiads and eternal men.
# Poems (Emerson, 1847)/Alphonso of Castile

ALPHONSO OF CASTILE.
I, Alphonso, live and learn, Seeing Nature go astern. Things deteriorate in kind; Lemons run to leaves and rind; Meagre crop of figs and limes; Shorter days and harder times. Flowering April cools and dies In the insufficient skies. Imps, at high midsummer, blot Half the sun's disk with a spot: 'Twill not now avail to tan Orange cheek or skin of man. Roses bleach, the goats are dry, Lisbon quakes, the people cry. Yon pale, scrawny fisher fools, Gaunt as bitterns in the pools, ​Are no brothers of my blood;— They discredit Adamhood. Eyes of gods! ye must have seen, O'er your ramparts as ye lean, The general debility; Of genius the sterility; Mighty projects countermanded; Rash ambition, brokenhanded; Puny man and scentless rose Tormenting Pan to double the dose. Rebuild or ruin: either fill Of vital force the wasted rill, Or tumble all again in heap To weltering chaos and to sleep.
Say, Seigniors, are the old Niles dry, Which fed the veins of earth and sky, That mortals miss the loyal heats, Which drove them erst to social feats; Now, to a savage selfness grown, Think nature barely serves for one; ​With science poorly mask their hurt, And vex the gods with question pert, Immensely curious whether you Still are rulers, or mildew?
Masters, I am in pain with you; Masters, I'll be plain with you; In my palace of Castile, I, a king, for kings can feel. There my thoughts the matter roll, And solve and oft resolve the whole. And, for I'm styled Alphonse the Wise, Ye shall not fail for sound advice. Before ye want a drop of rain, Hear the sentiment of Spain.
You have tried famine: no more try it; Ply us now with a full diet; Teach your pupils now with plenty; For one sun supply us twenty. I have thought it thoroughly over,— State of hermit, state of lover; ​We must have society, We cannot spare variety. Hear you, then, celestial fellows! Fits not to be overzealous; Steads not to work on the clean jump, Nor wine nor brains perpetual pump. Men and gods are too extense; Could you slacken and condense? Your rank overgrowths reduce Till your kinds abound with juice? Earth, crowded, cries, 'Too many men!' My counsel is, kill nine in ten, And bestow the shares of all On the remnant decimal. Add their nine lives to this cat; Stuff their nine brains in his hat; Make his frame and forces square With the labors he must dare; Thatch his flesh, and even his years With the marble which he rears. There, growing slowly old at ease, No faster than his planted trees, ​He may, by warrant of his age, In schemes of broader scope engage. So shall ye have a man of the sphere, Fit to grace the solar year.
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 10

Scans
Layout 4
# Poems for the Sea/Intemperance

INTEMPERANCE.
There's a cup that maketh sadness,
 Though of mirth it seems the friend;
To the brain it mounts in madness,
 And in folly hath its end.
'Neath its sway the sailor reeleth,
 Helpless, abject and forlorn;
All his good resolves it stealeth,
 Every duty bids him scorn;
Gives the land-sharks power to fleece him,
 All his hard-earned wages keep,
And at last, with scorn release him
 From worse shipwreck than the deep.
To his household-hearth it creepeth,
 And the fire in winter dies;
There, a lonely woman weepeth,
 While the famished infant cries.
Bloated form and brow it bringeth,
 Limbs that totter to and fro,
And like fiery scorpion stingeth,
 To an agony of woe.
Round the faltering feet it weaveth
 Snares that blind the eyes in gloom,
Sin it sows, and shame receiveth,
 Frowns of hate, and deeds of doom.
Bitter words of strife it teacheth,
 Striketh kind affections dead;
Even beyond the grave it reacheth,
 To the judgment-bar of dread.
Have we any room to doubt it,
 When its evil fruits we see?
Messmates! let us do without it,
 Break its thraldom and be free.
Hath not life enough of sorrow,
 Sickness, anguish, and decay,
That we needs must madly borrow
 Thorns to plant its shortening way?
There's a draught that heaven distilleth,
 Pure as crystal from the skies,
Freely, whosoever willeth,
 May partake it, and be wise.
# Poems for the Sea/Midnight Thoughts at Sea

MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS AT SEA.
Like a speck mid ocean's foam Far from native land and home, Midnight's cloud without a ray, Darkening o'er our venturous way, While the mountain wave is rolling, And the ship's bell faintly tolling, Helpless, Lord, and weak are we, Let us turn for strength to Thee.
Blast and surge, contending hoarse, Drive us on with headlong force, And the ship, while tempests urge, Groans and shivers at their scourge;
Yet should wildest tempests swell,
Be thou near, and all is well;
Saviour! on this tossing Sea
Let us find repose in Thee.
Countless wrecks are spread below,
Where with daring keel we go;
Gentle forms, and bosoms brave,
Ocean's floor, like jewels pave;
If with them in briny deep
It should be our lot to sleep,
Saviour! from the whelming sea
Take our ransomed souls to Thee.
# Poems for the Sea/Icebergs

ICEBERGS
The setting Sun, with glorious smile  Illumed the Atlantic main, And sweetly cheer'd a noble bark  That rode the surging plain; And from its deck, the voyagers  That cloudless radiance blest, When lo! a huge, portentous form  Appear'd on Ocean's breast,
Just at the far horizon's verge,  A mountain mid the main, As erst Philistia's giant tower'd  O'er Israel's tented plain, While hoarsely o'er the wave, it seemed  A threat of terror sped, "Who thus, with foot of fire, hath dar'd  My realm of frost to tread?"
Yet on, the gallant steam-ship press'd  Her flaming heart beat high, And boldly flow'd her fervid breath,  In volumes o'er the sky, Though gathering at their chieftain's nod  A monster-train drew near, With frowning helms, by Winter forg'd,  In panoply severe.
Then, as the watchful stars looked down  From their untroubled throne, A rushing flood of crimson light  Spread forth from zone to zone,—
Aurora Borealis bent
 Her arch around the skies,
And up the wondering billows gazed
 With phosphorescent eyes.
The sleepless Captain at his post
 Firm and undaunted stood,
Though ice was thickening round his keel,
 To chill the seamens' blood.
How tardily that fearful night,
 Told out each measured hour,
While many a prayerful heart invoked
 The Great Deliverer's power.
Up rose the morn, and touched the crowns
 Of all those arctic kings,
With lustre of a thousand rays
 That the rich diamond flings;
And flashing from their vitreous shields
 Reflected colors streamed,
While towers and miniarets of pearl,
 In fearful brilliance gleamed.
Who led us through that fierce array
 Of foes, so stern and dark,
The buffet of whose iron hands
 Could crush the strongest bark? Who brought us from their fearful realm
 Unscathed, the tale to tell,
At home, amid a listening group,
 While tears of rapture swell?
Forget Him not,—that God of love,
 But pay the worship due,
And on the altar of the soul
 The incense-flame renew,
To Him, who foiled that frigid host
 Who on their Ocean path,
So terrible in beauty frowned,
 So pitiless in wrath.
*The scene here described occurred to the steamship "Great Western," which on her voyage between Europe and the United States, in 1841, passed through a fleet of icebergs, reported by Capt. Hoskins, as between three and four hundred in number, headed by one larger than the rest, whose length was computed at three quarters of a mile, and its entire altitude, above and below the surface, at four hundred feet.
* ↑ David and Goliath, 1 Samuel 17.
* ↑ minarets.
# Poems for the Sea/My first Sabbath at Sea

MY FIRST SABBATH AT SEA
Swift gliding o'er the deep,
 As woke the hallow'd day,
With snowy sails, and favoring gales,
 Our ship pursued her way,— When lo! a gush of music sweet,
 Swelled from her heaving breast,
A holy voice of hymns, that seem'd
 To lull the wave to rest.
For on the sheltered deck
 Uprose a sacred rite,
The worship of old Ocean's King,
 The Lord of power and might;
Who with a simple line of sand
 Restrains its wrathful tide,
And lays his finger on its mane,  To quell its fiercest pride.
High words of solemn prayer
 Each listening spirit stir,
And by the fair young babe knelt down
 The wrinkled mariner,
On couch and mattrass rang'd around,
 The sick forgot their grief,
And caught the lore of Heaven, as drinks
 Its dew, the thirsting leaf.
Sad Erin's ardent sons
 Up from the steerage came,
And in their warm response invoked
 Jehovah's awful name;
And little children gathered near,
 Blest in their guileless years,
Hands folded close, and lips apart,
 And thoughts that move to tears.
Filled with the scene sublime,
 The priestly heart grew bold,
To speak with eloquence of Him,
 Who the great deep controlled;
And loftier was his youthful brow,
 And deep his tuneful voice,
That warned the sinner to repent,
 And bade the saint rejoice.
A spell was on the heart,
 That bowed the proudest head,
Above us the eternal skies,
 Beneath our feet the dead;
The dead who knew no burial rite,
 Save storm, or battle cry,
Whose tombs are where the coral grows,
 And the sea-monsters lie.
It is a blessed thing
 In God's own courts to stand,
And hear the pealing organ swell,
 And join the prayerful band;
Yet who in full dependence feels
 That One alone can save,
Until his fleeting life he throws
 Upon the troubled wave?
It is a blessed thing
 To heed the Sabbath chime,
And on 'neath summer foliage walk
 To keep the holy time;
Yet who hath all devoutly praised
 The Hand his breath that kept,
Until the strong unpitying surge
 Raged round him while he slept?
Earth the indulgent nurse,
 With love her son doth guide,
His safety on her quiet breast
 Begets an inborn pride;
But Ocean, king austere,
 Doth mock his trusting gaze,
And try the fabric of the faith,
 By which on Heaven he stays.
Again that tuneful sound
 Swells o'er the watery plain;
How passing sweet are Zion's songs
 Amid the stranger-main:
Our vessel taught them to the winds
 Along her venturous way,
And bade the lawless billows hush
 In their tremendous play.
Throughout the broad expanse
 No living thing is seen,
Except the stormy petrel's wing,
 That flecks the blue serene;
Praise! Praise! methinks the hoariest surge
 Might learn that lesson well,
Which even the infant zephyr's breath
 To earth's frail flowers doth tell.
What though the tender thought
 Of loved ones far away
Steals lingering to the moistened eye,  Mid prayer and chanted lay,
Yet trust in a Redeemer's word,
 And hopes that blossom free,
And hallowed memories cling around  This Sabbath on the sea.
# Poems for the Sea/Oracle for Seamen

ORACLE FOR SEAMEN.
[It is a fable of heathen mythology, that the ship Argo was built of oaks from the sacred groves of Dodonia, which were endowed with the gift of prophecy; so that the masts and timbers gave oracular advice to the Argonautic adventurers, and saved them from many threatening calamities.]
Dodonian Oaks were those, ye say That warn'd the sailor on his way, When in old time, with peril fraught. The Argonautic fleece he saught. For still prophetic impulse wove Those sever'd trunks from sacred grove,
And mystic voices here and there
From mast and rudder—cried "beware!"
And boast ye nought of spell or charm,
Your wanderer o'er the deep to arm?
No shield or panoply to cast
Around his breast mid danger's blast?
 A Book ye have, of wondrous power,
Go, press it on his parting hour,
And make the Bible's voice divine
His pilot, while he ploughs the brine.
 So shall an Oracle be near,
Like angel-whisper in his ear,
From swelling sail, from humble chest
Where home's lov'd tokens garner'd rest,
From dim forecastle's crowded throng
Mid oath and bacchanalian song,
From breaking dawn's uncertain light,
From lonely watch, at dead of night,
Even from the tempest's blackening cloud,
The iceberg dread, the shatter'd shroud,
The whelming surge, that voice shall be
A guide to immortality.
# Poems for the Sea/I went to Sea

I WENT TO SEA.
I am a sailor, rough and bold,
 And yet my childhood fair,
Was nurtured in a pleasant home,
 By parents' tender care;
But at their hearth or by their side
 I had no mind to be,
E'er since I heard a story told
 Of one who went to sea.
I sat in school, but book or rule
 No wise instruction brought,
The snowy sail, and tossing flood
 So fill'd my boyish thought,
And even at night, upon my bed,
 Strange visions spoke to me, And monsters play'd, and mermaids sung
 Wild carols of the sea.
My father bade me learn a trade,
 Or till the fallow land,
And told how healthful toil would heap
 The silver in my hand;
But at his Death, alas! I broke
 From all allegiance free,
And though my widowed mother wept,
 I left her for the sea.
I've sail'd where arctic oceans spread,
 And icy mountains frown,
And the fierce fire of tropic suns
 Hath turn'd my breast so brown,
I've roam'd among the Indian isles,
 Where grows the spicy tree,
And where the broad La Plata rolls
 Rich tribute to the sea.
I've climbed the shroud when storms blew loud,
 And every star was dead,
And winter in the midnight cloud
 Had muffled up her head;
I've seen our good ship go to wreck,
 For such was heaven's decree,
And in an open boat have dar'd
 The raging of the sea.
Yet still that Pilot, who the helm
 Of this round world doth guide,
Preserved me, when the jaws of death
 Were yawning dark and wide;
Though when the blast was safely past,
 Too oft in thoughtless glee
My hard, ungrateful heart forgot
 The Ruler of the sea.
But oft my mother's image comes
 So pitiful and meek,
As when with streaming eyes she stood
 Her last farewell to speak,
When from her pleasant cottage door
 I made such haste to flee,
And in my wilful haste forsook
 Her kindness for the sea.
That Book divine, which bids us shun
 The dread, undying flame,
Doth strictly for our parent-guides,
 A filial reverence claim;
But mother, mother, kind and dear,
 How have I honored thee?
With many a pang thy love was paid,
 Before I went to sea.
God give me grace to see thy face,
 And soothe thy sorrowing care,
And freely with thy feeble age
 My hard-earned pittance share,
And hear thee speak in loving tones
 The words so sweet to me,
Thy blessing on the lost and found,
 The son who went to sea.
# Poems for the Sea/Parting

PARTING.
Not of the boisterous wave,
 Not of the tempest's power,
Not of the tossed and cleaving bark,
 Speak at this sacred hour.
God of the trusting soul!
 God of the wanderer, hear! And from our parting cup of love  Wring out the dregs of fear.
Art Thou a God at home,  Where the bright fireside smiles, And not abroad, upon the deep,  Mid danger's deadliest wiles?
What though the eyes so dear
 To distant regions turn, Their tender language in our hearts  Like cherished flame shall burn.
What though the voice beloved
 Reply not to our pain, We'll keep its music in our souls,  Until we meet again.
Farewell!—May angel-guards
 Protect thy wave-rocked sleep,
Nor shall our nightly prayers forget
 The loved one on the deep.
# Poems for the Sea/Hymn at Parting

SAILOR'S HYMN, AT PARTING
When the heart at parting bleeds, As our native land recedes, And the sternly tossing main Takes us to its breast again, Heavenly Father, soothe our woe, Guide us, wheresoe'er we go.
When the lonely watch we keep, Silent, on the midnight deep; While the boisterous surges hoarse. Bear us darkly on our course; Eye, that never slumbers! shed Holy influence on our head.
When the Sabbath's peaceful ray O'er the Ocean's breast doth play, Though no throngs assemble there, No sweet church-bell warns to prayer, Spirit! let thy presence be, Sabbath to the unresting sea.
When the raging billows dark, Thundering toss our threatened bark, Thou, who on the whelming wave Didst the meek disciple save— Thou, who hear'st us when we pray, Jesus! Saviour! be our stay.
When in foreign lands we roam, Far from kindred and from home, Stranger eyes our conduct viewing, Heathen bands our steps pursuing, Let our conversation be Fitting those that follow thee.
Should pale death with arrow dread Make the ocean caves our bed, Though no eye of love might see Where that shrouded grave shall be, Thou! who hear'st the surges roll, Deign to save the suppliant soul.
# Poems for the Sea/Our Ships

OUR SHIPS.
The ships from young Columbia's shore,
 As fleet they are and free,
As those from haughtier realms, that boast
 Dominion o'er the sea.
As gallantly their banners float,
 As keen their lightning's fly,
And braver hearts than there are found
 Beat not beneath the sky.
White as the glancing sea-bird's wing
 Their swelling sails expand,
Beside the bright Egean isles,
 Or green Formosa's strand,
Or where the sparse Norwegian pine
 A sudden summer shares,
Or Terra del Fuego's torch
 Amid the tempest glares.
Unmoved, their trackless course they hold
 Though vengeful Boreas roars,
And make their port on stranger coasts
 Or undiscovered shores,
Rude people of a foreign speech,
 Have learned their cheering cry,
"Land-ho! Aloft!" and "Bear-a-hand!"
 With the ready tar's reply.
From zone to zone,—from pole to pole,
 Where'er in swift career
The venturous keel a path explores,
 Our Yankee sailors steer.
The white bear, on his field of ice
 Hath seen their signals tossed,
And the great whale,—old Ocean's king,
 Doth know them to his cost.
The spices from the Indian isles,
 The plant of China's care,
The cane's sweet blood from tropic climes
 Their merchant-vessels bear,
Wherever Commerce points his wand,
 They mount the crested waves,
And link together every sea
 The rolling globe that laves.
Still nearest to the Antarctic gale
 Our daring seamen press,
Where storm-wrapped Nature thought to dwell
 In hermit-loneliness;
"Whose masts are these, so white with frost,
 Where fearful icebergs shine?"
My country from her watch-tower looked  And answered,—"They are mine!"
Columbia's ships!—With dauntless prow
 The tossing deep they tread;
The pirates of the Libyan sands
 Have felt their prowess dread;
And the British lion's lordly mane
 Their victor might confessed,
For well their nation's faith and pride
 They guard on Ocean's breast.
When strong Oppression fiercely frowns,
 Her eagle rears its crest,
And means no bird of air shall pluck
 His pinions, or his breast;
And brightest on the threatening cloud
 Gleam out her stars of gold;
Huzza! for young Columbia's ships—
 And for her seamen bold!
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
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/Remembrance of Collins

XIX.
REMEMBRANCE OF COLLINS,
Written upon the Thames near Richmond.
Glide gently, thus for ever glide, O Thames! that other Bards may see As lovely visions by thy side As now, fair River! come to me. O glide, fair Stream! for ever so, Thy quiet soul on all bestowing, Till all our minds for ever flow As thy deep waters now are flowing.
​Vain thought!....Yet be as now thou art, That in thy waters may be seen The image of a poet's heart, How bright, how solemn, how serene! Such as did once the Poet bless, Who murmuring here a later ditty, Could find no refuge from distress But in the milder grief of pity.
Now let us, as we float along, For him suspend the dashing oar; And pray that never child of Song May know that Poet's sorrows more. How calm! how still! the only sound, The dripping of the oar suspended! —The evening darkness gathers round By virtue's holiest Powers attended.
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/Spanish Guerillas

XXIX
SPANISH GUERILLAS.
1811.
They seek, are sought; to daily battle led, Shrink not, though far out-numbered by their Foes: For they have learnt to open and to close The ridges of grim War; and at their head Are Captains such as erst their Country bred Or fostered, self-supported Chiefs,—like those Whom hardy Rome was fearful to oppose, Whose desperate shock the Carthaginian fled. In one who lived unknown a Shepherd's life Redoubted Viriatus breathes again; And Mina, nourished in the studious shade, With that great Leader vies, who, sick of strife And bloodshed, longed in quiet to be laid In some green Island of the western main.
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/Six thousand Veterans

XXIV.
October, 1803.
Six thousand Veterans practised in War's game, Tried Men, at Killicranky were array'd Against an equal Host that wore the Plaid, Shepherds and Herdsmen.—Like a whirlwind came The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame; And Garry, thundering down his mountain-road, Was stopped, and could not breathe beneath the load Of the dead bodies.—'Twas a day of shame For them whom precept and the pedantry Of cold mechanic battle do enslave. Oh! for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave! Like conquest would the Men of England see; And her Foes find a like inglorious Grave.
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 2/Say what is Honour?

XV.
Say, what is Honour?—'Tis the finest sense Of justice which the human mind can frame, Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim, And guard the way of life from all offence Suffered or done. When lawless violence A Kingdom doth assault, and in the scale Of perilous war her weightiest Armies fail, Honour is hopeful elevation—whence Glory—and Triumph. Yet with politic skill Endangered States may yield to terms unjust, Stoop their proud heads;—but not unto the dust,— A Foe's most favourite purpose to fulfil! Happy occasions oft by self-mistrust Are forfeited; but infamy doth kill.