OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The English and Scottish Popular Ballads/Part 9/Chapter 278

A
THERE was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell, (chorus of whistlers) There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell, And he had a bad wife, as many knew well. (chorus of whistlers) Then Satan came to the old man at the plough: 'One of your family I must have now. 'It is not your eldest son that I crave, But it is your old wife, and she I will have.' 'O welcome, good Satan, with all my heart! I hope you and she will never more part.' Now Satan has got the old wife on his back, And he lugged her along, like a pedlar's pack. He trudged away till they came to his hall-gate; Says he, Here, take in an old Sussex chap's mate. O then she did kick the young imps about; Says one to the other, Let's try turn her out. She spied thirteen imps all dancing in chains, She up with her pattens and beat out their brains. She knocked the old Satan against the wall! 'Let's turn her out, or she'll murder us all.' Now he's bundled her up on his back amain, And to her old husband he took her again. 'I have been a tormentor the whole of my life, But I neer was tormented so as with your wife.'
B
THE auld Deil cam to the man at the pleugh, Rumchy ae de aidie Saying, I wish ye gude luck at the making o yer sheugh. Mushy toorin an ant tan aira. 'It's neither your oxen nor you that I crave; It's that old scolding woman, it's her I must have.' 'Ye're welcome to her wi a' my gude heart; I wish you and her it's never may part.' She jumped on to the auld Deil's back, And he carried her awa like a pedlar's pack. He carried her on till he cam to hell's door, He gaed her a kick till she landed in the floor. She saw seven wee deils a sitting in a raw, She took up a mell and she murdered them a'. A wee reekit deil lookit owre the wa: 'O tak her awa, or she'll ruin us a'.' 'O what to do wi her I canna weel tell; She's no fit for heaven, and she'll no bide in hell.'
She jumpit on to the auld Deil's back, And he carried her back like a pedlar's pack.
She was seven years gaun, and seven years comin, And she cried for the sowens she left in the pot.
# The Five Nations/Our Lady of the Snows

OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS
(CANADIAN PREFERENTIAL TARIFF, 1897)
A Nation spoke to a Nation, A Queen sent word to a Throne: "Daughter am I in my mother's house, But mistress in my own. The gates are mine to open, As the gates are mine to close, And I set my house in order," Said our Lady of the Snows.
"Neither with laughter nor weeping, Fear or the child's amaze— Soberly under the White Man's law My white men go their ways. Not for the Gentiles' clamour— Insult or threat of blows— Bow we the knee to Baal," Said our Lady of the Snows.
​"My speech is clean and single, I talk of common things— Words of the wharf and the market-place And the ware the merchant brings: Favour to those I favour, But a stumbling-block to my foes. Many there be that hate us," Said our Lady of the Snows.
"I called my chiefs to council In the din of a troubled year; For the sake of a sign ye would not see, And a word ye would not hear. This is our message and answer; This is the path we chose: For we be also a people," Said our Lady of the Snows.
"Carry the word to my sisters— To the Queens of the East and the South. I have proven faith in the Heritage By more than the word of the mouth. ​They that are wise may follow Ere the world's war-trumpet blows: But I—I am first in the battle," Said our Lady of the Snows.
A Nation spoke to a Nation, A Throne sent word to a Throne:
"Daughter am I in my mother's house, But mistress in my own! The gates are mine to open, As the gates are mine to close, And I abide by my mother's house," Said our Lady of the Snows.
# The Five Nations/Song of the Wise Children

SONG OF THE WISE CHILDREN
When the darkened Fifties dip to the North, And frost and the fog divide the air, And the day is dead at his breaking-forth, Sirs, it is bitter beneath the Bear!
Far to Southward they wheel and glance, The million molten spears of morn— The spears of our deliverance That shine on the house where we were born.
Flying-fish about our bows, Flying sea-fires in our wake: This is the road to our Father's House, Whither we go for our soul's sake!
We have forfeited our birthright, We have forsaken all things meet; We have forgotten the look of light, We have forgotten the scent of heat.
​They that walk with shaded brows, Year by year in a shining land, They be men of our Father's House, They shall receive us and understand.
We shall go back by boltless doors, To the life unaltered our childhood knew— To the naked feet on the cool, dark floors, And the high-ceiled rooms that the Trade blows through:
To the trumpet-flowers and the moon beyond, And the tree-toad's chorus drowning all— And the lisp of the split banana-frond That talked us to sleep when we were small.
The wayside magic, the threshold spells, Shall soon undo what the North has done— Because of the sights and the sounds and the smells That ran with our youth in the eye of the sun!
And Earth accepting shall ask no vows, Nor the Sea our love nor our lover the Sky. When we return to our Father's House Only the English shall wonder why!
# The Five Nations/Sussex

SUSSEX
God gave all men all earth to love, But since out hearts are small, Ordained for each one spot should prove Beloved over all; That as He watched Creation's birth, So we, in godlike mood, May of our love create our earth And see that it is good.
So one shall Baltic pines content, As one some Surrey glade, Or one the palm-grove's droned lament Before Levuka's trade. Each to his choice, and I rejoice The lot has fallen to me In a fair ground—in a fair ground— Yea, Sussex by the sea!
​No tender-hearted garden crowns, No bosomed woods adorn Our blunt, bow-headed, whale-backed Downs, But gnarled and writhen thorn— Bare slopes where chasing shadows skim, And through the gaps revealed Belt upon belt, the wooded, dim Blue goodness of the Weald.
Clean of officious fence or hedge, Half-wild and wholly tame, The wise turf cloaks the white cliff edge As when the Romans came. What sign of those that fought and died At shift of sword and sword? The barrow and the camp abide, The sunlight and the sward.
Here leaps ashore the full Sou'west All heavy-winged with brine, Here lies above the folded crest The Channel's leaden line; ​And here the sea-fogs lap and cling, And here, each warning each, The sheep-bells and the ship-bells ring Along the hidden beach.
We have no waters to delight Our broad and brookless vales— Only the dewpond on the height Unfed, that never fails, Whereby no tattered herbage tells Which way the season flies— Only our close-bit thyme that smells Like dawn in Paradise.
Here through the strong unhampered days The tinkling silence thrills; Or little, lost, Down churches praise The Lord who made the hills: But here the Old Gods guard their round, And, in her secret heart, The heathen kingdom Wilfrid found Dreams, as she dwells, apart.
​Though all the rest were all my share, With equal soul I'd see Her nine-and-thirty sisters fair, Yet none more fair than she. Choose ye your need from Thames to Tweed, And I will choose instead Such lands as lie 'twixt Rake and Rye, Black Down and Beachy Head.
I will go out against the sun Where the rolled scarp retires, And the Long Man of Wilmington Looks naked toward the shires; And east till doubling Rother crawls To find the fickle tide, By dry and sea-forgotten walls, Our ports of stranded pride.
I will go north about the shaws And the deep ghylls that breed Huge oaks and old, the which we hold No more than "Sussex weed"; ​Or south where windy Piddinghoe's Begilded dolphin veers, And black beside wide-bankèd Ouse Lie down our Sussex steers.
So to the land our hearts we give Till the sure magic strike, And Memory, Use, and.Love make live Us and our fields alike— That deeper than our speech and thought, Beyond our reason's sway, Clay of the pit whence we were wrought Yearns to its fellow-clay.
God gives all men all earth to love, But since man's heart is small, Ordains for each one spot shall prove Beloved over all. Each to his choice, and I rejoice The lot has fallen to me In a fair ground—in a fair ground— Yea, Sussex by the sea!
# The Five Nations/Rimmon

RIMMON
Duly with knees that feign to quake— Bent head and shaded brow,— Yet once again, for my father's sake, In Rimmon's House I bow.
The curtains part, and the trumpet blares, And the eunuchs howl aloud; And the gilt, swag-bellied idol glares Insolent over the crowd.
"This is Rimmon, Lord of the Earth— "Fear Him and bow the knee!" And I watch my comrades hide their mirth That rode to the wars with me.
For we remember the sun and the sand And the rocks whereon we trod, Ere we came to a scorched and a scornful land That did not know our God;
​As we remember the sacrifice Dead men an hundred laid— Slain while they served His mysteries And that He would not aid.
Not though we gashed ourselves and wept, For the high-priest bade us wait; Saying He went on a journey or slept, Or was drunk or had taken a mate.
(Praise ye Rimmon, King of Kings, Who ruleth Earth and Sky! And again I bow as the censer swings And the God Enthroned goes by.)
Ay, we remember His sacred ark And the virtuous men that knelt To the dark and the hush behind the dark Wherein we dreamed He dwelt;
Until we entered to hale Him out, And found no more than an old Uncleanly image girded about The loins with scarlet and gold.
​Him we o'erset with the butts of our spears— Him and his vast designs— To be the scorn of our muleteers And the jest of our halted lines.
By the picket-pins that the dogs defile, In the dung and the dust He lay, Till the priests ran and chattered awhile And wiped Him and took Him away.
Hushing the matter before it was known, They returned to our fathers afar, And hastily set Him afresh on His throne Because He had won us the war.
Wherefore with knees that feign to quake— Bent head and shaded brow— To this dead dog, for my father's sake, In Rimmon's House I bow.
# The Five Nations/South Africa

SOUTH AFRICA
Lived a woman wonderful, (May the Lord amend her!) Neither simple, kind, nor true, But her Pagan beauty drew Christian gentlemen a few Hotly to attend her.
Christian gentlemen a few From Berwick unto Dover; For she was South Africa, And she was South Africa, She was our South Africa, Africa all over!
Half her land was dead with drouth, Half was red with battle; She was fenced with fire and sword, ​Plague on pestilence outpoured, Locusts on the greening sward And murrain on the cattle!
True, ah true, and overtrue; That is why we love her! For she is South Africa, And she is South Africa, She is our South Africa, Africa all over!
Bitter hard her lovers toiled, Scandalous their payment,— Food forgot on trains derailed; Cattle-dung where fuel failed; Water where the mules had staled; And sackcloth for their raiment!
So she filled their mouths with dust And their bones with fever; Greeted them with cruel lies; Treated them despiteful-wise; Meted them calamities Till they vowed to leave her.
​They took ship and they took sail, Raging, from her borders,— In a little, none the less, They forgat their sore duresse, They forgave her waywardness And returned for orders!
They esteemed her favour more Than a Throne's foundation. For the glory of her face Bade farewell to breed and race— Yea, and made their burial-place Altar of a Nation!
Wherefore, being bought by blood And by blood restorèd To the arms that nearly lost, She, because of all she cost, Stands, a very woman, most Perfect and adorèd!
On your feet, and let them know This is why we love her! ​For she is South Africa, She is our South Africa, Is our own South Africa, Africa all over!
# The Five Nations/Stellenbosh

STELLENBOSH
(COMPOSITE COLUMNS)
The General 'eard the firin' on the flank, An' 'e sent a mounted man to bring 'im back, The silly, pushin' person's name an' rank, 'Oo'd dared to answer Brother Boer's attack. For there might 'ave been a serious engagement, An' 'e might 'ave wasted 'alf a dozen men; So 'e ordered 'im to stop 'is operations round the kopjes, An' 'e told 'im off before the Staff at ten!
And it all goes into the laundry, But it never comes out in the wash, 'Ow we're sugared about by the old men ('Eavy-stemed amateur old men!) That 'amper an' 'inder an' scold men For fear of Stellenbosh!
The General 'ad "produced a great effect," The General 'ad the country cleared—almost; The General "'ad no reason to expect," And the Boers 'ad us bloomin' well on toast! ​For we might 'ave crossed the drift before the twilight, Instead o' sitting down an' takin' root; But we was not allowed, so the Boojers scooped the crowd, To the last survivin' bandolier an' boot.
The General saw the farm'ouse in 'is rear, With its stoep so nicely shaded from the sun; Sez 'e, "I'll pitch my tabernacle 'ere," An' 'e kept us muckin' round till 'e 'ad done. For 'e might 'ave caught the confluent pneumonia From sleepin' in his gaiters in the dew; So 'e took a book an' dozed while the other columns closed, And ——'s commando out an' trickled through!
The General saw the mountain-range ahead, With their 'elios showin' saucy on the 'eight, So 'e 'eld us to the level ground instead, An' telegraphed the Boojers wouldn't fight. ​For 'e might 'ave gone an' sprayed 'em with a pompom, Or 'e might 'ave slung a squadron out to see— But 'e wasn't takin' chances in them 'igh an' 'ostile kranzes— He was markin' time to earn a K.C.B
The General got 'is decorations thick (The men that backed 'is lies could not complain), The Staff 'ad D.S.O.'s till we was sick, An' the soldier—'ad the work to do again! For 'e might 'ave known the District was a 'otbed, Instead of 'andin' over, upside-down, To a man 'oo 'ad to fight 'alf a year to put it right, While the General went an' slandered 'im in town!
An' it all went into the laundry, But it never came out in the wash. We were sugared about by the old men (Panicky, perishin' old men) That 'amper an' 'inder and scold men For fear o' Stellenbosh!
# The Five Nations/Piet

PIET
(REGULAR OF THE LINE)
I do not love my Empire's foes, Nor call 'em angels; still, What is the sense of 'atin' those 'Oom you are paid to kill? So, barrin' all that foreign lot Which only joined for spite, Myself, I'd just as soon as not Respect the man I fight. Ah there, Piet!—'is trousies to 'is knees, 'Is coat-tails lyin' level in the bullet-sprinkled breeze; 'E does not lose 'is rifle an' 'e does not lose 'is seat, I've known a lot o' people ride a dam' sight worse than Piet!
​I've 'eard 'im cryin' from the ground Like Abel's blood of old, An' skirmished out to look, an' found The beggar nearly cold; I've waited on till 'e was dead (Which couldn't 'elp 'im much), But many grateful things 'e's said To me for doin' such. Ah there, Piet! whose time 'as come to die, 'Is carcase past rebellion, but 'is eyes inquirin' why. Though dressed in stolen uniform with badge o' rank complete, I've known a lot o' fellers go a dam' sight worse than Piet.
An' when there wasn't aught to do But camp and cattle-guards, I've fought with 'im the 'ole day through At fifteen 'undred yards; Long afternoons o' lyin' still, An' 'earin' as you lay The bullets swish from 'ill to 'ill Like scythes among the 'ay. ​Ah there, Piet!—be'ind 'is stony kop, With 'is Boer bread an' biltong, an' 'is flask of awful Dop; 'Is Mauser for amusement an' 'is pony for retreat, I've known a lot o' fellers shoot a dam' sight worse than Piet.
He's shoved 'is rifle 'neath my nose Before I'd time to think, An' borrowed all my Sunday clo'es An' sent me 'ome in pink; An' I 'ave crept (Lord, 'ow I've crept!) On 'ands an' knees I've gone, And spoored and floored and caught and kept An' sent him to Ceylon! Ah there, Piet!—you've sold me many a pup, When week on week alternate it was you an' me "'ands up!" But though I never made you walk man-naked in the 'eat, I've known a lot of fellers stalk a dam' sight worse than Piet.
​From Plewman's to Marabastad, From Ookiep to De Aar Me an' my trusty friend 'ave 'ad, As you might say, a war; But seein' what both parties done Before 'e owned defeat, I ain't more proud of 'avin' won, Than I am pleased with Piet. Ah there, Piet!—picked up be'ind the drive! The wonder wasn't 'ow 'e fought, but 'ow 'e kep' alive, With nothin' in 'is belly, on 'is back, or to 'is feet— I've known a lot o' men behave a dam' sight worse than Piet.
No more I'll 'ear 'is rifle crack Along the block'ouse fence— The beggar's on the peaceful tack, Regardless of expense. For countin' what 'e eats an' draws, An' gifts an' loans as well, 'E's gettin' 'alf the Earth, because 'E didn't give us 'Ell! ​Ah there, Piet! with your brand-new English plough, Your gratis tents an' cattle, an' your most ungrateful frow. You've made the British taxpayer rebuild your country-seat— I've known some pet battalions charge a dam' sight less than Piet.
# The Garden of Paradise

English-language translations of Paradisets Have include:
* "The Garden of Paradise" in Little Ellie and Other Tales (1850), translated by unknown translator
* "The Garden of Paradise" in Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales (1888), translated by Mrs. Henry H. B. Paull
* "The Garden of Paradise" in The Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen (1899), translated by Mary Howitt, illustrated by Helen Stratton
* "The Garden of Paradise" unknown translator. Stories from Hans Andersen with illustrations by Edmund Dulac. New York: Hodder & Stoughton. 1910
* "The Garden of Paradise" in Fairy Tales and Other Stories (1914), translated by W. A. Craigie and J. K. Craigie
* "The Garden of Paradise" in Fairy tales from Hans Christian Andersen (1914), translated by unknown translator, illustrated by Dugald Stewart Walker
# The Garden of Romance

The
Garden of Romance
Romantic Tales of
All Time
Chosen and Edited by Ernest Rhys
London Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co. L$^{td}$ Paternoster House, Charing Cross Road 1897
The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved.
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
At the Ballantyne Press
Preface
The old taste for the Tale, pure and simple, which, stimulated by such writers as Mr. Kipling and M. de Maupassant, has grown anew of late years, is enough in itself to account for the present anthology. Within its limits will be found, as in a GARDEN, the fine flowers of the art, chosen with a preference for those of a romantic order, and transplanted from many lands and many times. From the East, where Romance may be said to have begun—whence we have taken an "Arabian Night"—to the extreme West, where Hawthorne and Edgar Poe gave the art a new effect; from Sir Thomas Malory to Sir Walter Scott; from Sterne to Hans Andersen; we have ranged to get all the variety in excellence, and all the delight of stories wonderfully well told, to be had within so small a space. Most of the tales are so famous that they need give no account of themselves. To "Balin and Balan," let us remind the reader, however, Mr. Swinburne has lent lately a new interest, and a new excuse, if one ​be needed, for its being detached from the "Morte D' Arthur." Of the translated tales, we have taken an early seventeenth century version of "Cymon and Iphigenia," and Smollett's, of the "Story of Marcella;" while a new translation has been made for us by sympathetic hands of Hans Andersen's most touching "Pebersvendens Nathue" (Pepper-Vendor's or Old Bachelor's Nightcap).
E. R.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Garden of Romance/Front matter

The Garden of Romance
* Kegan Paul, Trench, Trüber & Co.'s
* New Illustrated Books
* EVERY-DAY CHARACTERS. By Winthrop Mackworth Praed. Profusely Illustrated by Cecil Aldin, with a specially designed Cover in Colours. Crown 4to, 6s.
* THE CHAURAPANCHASIKA: An Indian Love Lament. Translated and Illustrated by Sir Edwin Arnold, K.C.I.E., C.S.I. Oblong royal 8vo, 10s 6d.
* THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND: By Maxwell Gray. New Edition, with numerous Illustrations, Title-page, and Cover Design by F. Hamilton Jackson. Post 8vo, 6s.
* ALL-FELLOWS: Seven Legends of Lower Redemption. By Laurence Housman. With Seven Illustrations, and Title-page and Cover Design by the Author. Imperial 16mo, 6s.
* IN THE GREEN LEAF AND THE SERE. By "A Son of the Marshes." Edited by J. A. Owen. With Illustrations by George C. Haite and Dorothy C. Nicholl. Large post 8vo, 7s 6d.
* London: Paternoster House, Charing Cross Road
# The Godfather

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Godfather."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* The Godfather (Grimm)
* The Godfather (Tolstoy)
# The Godfather (Grimm)

* related portals: Brothers Grimm.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, Wikidata item.
English-language translations of Der Herr Gevatter include:
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Gods Remember (Howard)

An early draft, somewhat different from another version that begins “The glories of the ages”; a titled version is included in a list of REH poems that Kline possessed, though it is listed as 50 lines, compared to this version’s 16 lines. First published in The Collected Letters of Robert E. Howard, vol. 1 (2007), in a letter to Tevis Clyde Smith, ca. October 1927.
Layout 2
The Gods Remember (draft)
This work is from the United States and in the public domain because it was not legally published with the permission of the copyright holder before January 1, 2003 and the author died more than 70 years ago. This is a posthumous work and its copyright in certain countries and areas may depend on years since posthumous publication, rather than years since the author's death. Translations or editions published later may be copyrighted.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Gods Remember

As rendered in Harper's Magazine (October 1916):
The Gods Remember
BY FLORENCE EARLE COATES
THE Gods remember always. We forget, But they forget not: every debt Howe'er we palter and evade, Maturing, must be paid.   They pity us, the Gods, but naught forgive, Lest we, who slowly learn to live— Children scarce wiser in our age than youth— Should come to doubt their truth!
Loving the brave who strive and will not yield Though hurt and fallen on the field, They teach us not from death to fly, Lest we, indeed, should die!
For 'tis their will the soul shall rise Above its earthly agonies: Triumphant rise, as from the pyre A Phœnix, winged by fire!
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 1927, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 96 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