OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Ode for Washington's Birthday (MLA)

Celebration of the Mercantile Library Association, February 24, 1856
Welcome to the day returning,  Dearer still as ages flow, While the torch of Faith is burning,  Long as Freedom's altars glow! See the hero whom it gave us  Slumbering on a mother's breast; For the arm he stretched to save us,  Be its morn forever blest!
Hear the tale of youthful glory,  While of Britain's rescued band Friend and foe repeat the story,  Spread his fame o'er sea and land, Where the red cross, proudly streaming,  Flaps above the frigate's deck, Where the golden lilies, gleaming,  Star the watch-towers of Quebec.
Look! The shadow on the dial  Marks the hour of deadlier strife; Days of terror, years of trial,  Scourge a nation into life. Lo, the youth, become her leader!  All her baffled tyrants yield; Through his arm the Lord hath freed her;  Crown him on the tented field!
Vain is empire's mad temptation!  Not for him an earthly crown! He whose sword hath freed a nation  Strikes the offered sceptre down. See the throneless Conqueror seated,  Ruler by a people's choice; See the Patriot's task completed;  Hear the Father's dying voice!
"By the name that you inherit,  By the sufferings you recall, Cherish the fraternal spirit;  Love your country first of all! Listen not to idle questions  If its bands may be untied; Doubt the patriot whose suggestions  Strive a nation to divide!"
Father! We, whose ears have tingled  With the discord-notes of shame,— We, whose sires their blood have mingled  In the battle's thunder-flame,— Gathering, while this hold morning  Lights the land from sea to sea, Hear thy counsel, heed thy warning;  Trust us, while we honor thee!
# Ode V. to Sylvia

Hast thou not seen some captive bird Impatient flit within the wire, And seek the bliss of liberty, With anxious fond desire? Or hast thou not beheld, in chains, Some poor unhappy pris’ner pine? E’en such a wretched slave am I, E’en such hard fetters mine. But yet from these I differ too, For they would cast their chains away, While I exult to wear the badge Of thy unpitying sway. Then deign, fair nymph, one smile of love, One ray of ruddy hope impart! O, give this life the pow’r to live, And heal the wounded heart!
This work is in the public domain in Australia because it was created in Australia and the term of copyright has expired. According to Australian Copyright Council - Duration of Copyright, the following works are public domain:
* published non-government works whose author died before January 1, 1955,
* anonymous or pseudonymous works and photographs published before January 1, 1955, and
* government works published more than 50 years ago (before January 1, 1974).
This work is also in the public domain in the United States because it was first published outside the United States (and not published in the U.S. within 30 days), and it was first published before 1989 without complying with U.S. copyright formalities (renewal and/or copyright notice) and it was in the public domain in Australia on the URAA date (January 1, 1996). This is the combined effect of Australia having joined the Berne Convention in 1928, and of 17 USC 104A with its critical date of January 1, 1996.
Because the Australian copyright term in 1996 was 50 years, the critical date for copyright in the United States under the URAA is January 1, 1946.
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
# Ode Written in the Beginning of the Year 1746

* "How sleep the brave, who sink to rest" in The Carcanet: A Literary Album (1828)
* "Written in the beginning of the Year 1746" in The Poetical Works of William Collins (1830)
* "How Sleep the Brave" in Poems That Every Child Should Know (1904)
# Ode from the Spanish of Ferdinand de Herrera/Title Page

This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Ode from the Spanish of Ferdinand de Herrera
By
Felicia Hemans
Taken from The Edinburgh Magazine And Literary Miscellany April 1822 Pages 428–429
by Peter J. Bolton
# Ode for Memorial Day

* "Ode for Memorial Day", published in Lyrics of Lowly Life (1896)
* "Ode for Memorial Day", published in The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar (1913)
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
# Ode for Washington's Birthday

* Ode for Washington's Birthday, 1856
* Ode for Washington's Birthday in The Riverside song book, 1893
* Ode for Washington's Birthday, in Suggestive programs for special day exercises 1898
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Prayer at Sea

PRAYER AT SEA.
Prayer may be sweet in cottage homes,  Where sire and child devoutly kneel, And through the open casement nigh  The vernal blossoms gently steal.
Prayer may be sweet in stately halls,  Where heart with kindred heart is blent, And upward to the Eternal Throne  The hymn of praise melodious sent.
But he who fain would know how strong  The soul's appeal to God may be, From friends and native land should turn,  A wanderer on the faithless sea:
Should hear its deep imploring tone  Rise upward o'er the thundering surge, When breakers threat the fragile bark,  And winds with waves their conflict urge.
No spot on which his foot can rest,  No refuge where his form may flee, How will he cling, oh Rock Divine,  And bind his anchoring hope to Thee.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Request of the Dying Child

REQUEST OF THE DYING CHILD.
Stretch'd on the couch of pain, there lay a child Of some few summers. The dense city's roofs Throng'd thick around her, and the vertic sun Pour'd from those glowing tiles a fervid heat Upon her shrinking nerves. Sad she retraced The rural scenes where her young childhood grew, And wishfully her pale lips shaped the sound Of home, sweet home.  "Dear mother, take me there, To that first home. The early flowers that sprung Beside the garden walk, and those tall trees, Would I might see them but once more, and touch The pleasant vine that o'er my window climb'd. I could breathe freer there."  And so they raised The languid child, for how could they deny Her last heart-yearning? and with mournful tears Wrapp'd as a traveller her whom Death had seal'd For his returnless journey.  Swift the boat Shot o'er the river-tide, and then the wheel, Careful yet tedious, mark'd the well-known track O'er hill and valley. Patiently she bore The weary travel, and when sunset brought The well-remember'd haunt, upraised her head, And with a tremulous and tender tone
Hail'd each familiar object. It would seem As if, indulgent to her fond request, Death waited for her. Though the thread-like pulse Stirr'd not the ivory arm, and the poor heart Scarce forced the life-tide oozing drop by drop, Yet still Death waited for her.  One full hour She lay within his icy arms, and drew In deep, long, quivering gasps her native air. He waited for her while she grasp'd the flowers, The fresh wild-flowers that bloom'd where she was born, And while she gazed upon the waving trees, And press'd the fragrant vine-leaves to her brow, But then he coldly beckon'd her away: And so she meekly kiss'd her mother's lips, And went to rest.  How sweet that home to thee From whence is no departure, peaceful child! And where no pilgrim with his dusty staff Toils just to gaze upon its blissful gate, Then turn and die.  And they who fed thee here With love's rich balm-cup, let it be their joy, Their hymn of gratulation night and day, That thou art gather'd with the pure in heart, Back to thy natural element again.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Sacred Music

SACRED MUSIC.
The King of Israel sat in state  Within his palace fair, Where falling fountains, pure and cool,  Assuaged the summer air;
But shrouded was the son of Kish,  Mid all his royal grace; The tempest of a troubled soul  Swept flashing o'er his face.
In vain were pomp, or regal power,  Or courtier's flattering tone, For pride and hatred basely sat  Upon his bosom's throne.
He call'd upon his minstrel-boy,  With hair as bright as gold, Reclining in a deep recess,  Where droop'd the curtain's fold.
Upon his minstrel-boy he call'd,  And forth the stripling came, Bright beauty on his ruddy brow,  Like morn's enkindling flame.
"Give music," said the moody king,  Nor raised his gloomy eye:
"Thou son of Jesse, bring the harp,  And wake its melody."
He thought upon his father's flock,  Which long, in pastures green, He led, while flow'd, with silver sound,  Clear rivulets between.
He thought of Bethlehem's star-lit skies,  Beneath whose liquid rays He gazed upon the glorious arch,  And sang its Maker's praise.
Then boldly o'er the sacred harp  He pour'd, in thrilling strain, The prompting of a joyous heart,  That knew nor care nor pain.
The monarch, leaning on his hand,  Drank long the wondrous lay, And clouds were lifted from his brow,  As when the sunbeams play.
The purple o'er his heaving breast,  That throbb'd so wild, grew still, And Saul's clear eye glanced out, as when  He did Jehovah's will.
O ye who feel the poison-fumes  Of earth's fermenting care Steal o'er the sky of hope, and dim  What Heaven created fair,
Should languid piety decline  Within your erring breast, Or baleful passion's scorpion-sting  Bereave your soul of rest,
Ask music from a guileless heart,  High tones, with sweetness fraught, And, by that alchymy divine,  Subdue the sinful thought.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Return of the Pastor

RETURN OF THE PASTOR.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Sabbath Meditations

SABBATH MEDITATIONS.
Toss'd on the angry deep, with riven sails,  The bark, long struggling 'gainst the tempest's wrath, Meets the rich perfume breathed from land-born gales,  And skims more lightly o'er her billowy path; While the glad sailor marks the misty line Where his loved native hills the blue horizon join.
Spent, on his broken raft, the swimmer lies,  A noteless speck mid ocean's stormy spray, While round his head the shrieking seagull flies,  And warns her comrades of the expected prey; See! see! the lifeboat! Lo, its deck he gains, And mid protecting friends forgets his fearful pains.
The traveller, faint amid the desert sands,  Thinks of his native clime with bitter tear, Fast by his side his drooping camel stands,  Hark to the cry of hope! a fountain near! A green oasis mid the burning plain, And 'neath the palm-tree shade he dreams of home again.
And art not thou, O glorious Sabbath morn,  A lifeboat to the outcast on the main? A sight of home to mariner forlorn?  A sound of waters mid the burning plain?
Bear to my soul thy blessing from on high, That dayspring of our God whose beams shall never die.
With holy words of psalmist and of seer,  With penitential prayers in secret born, With chant and worship of the temple dear,  Come thou to me, O consecrated morn; Descend and touch devotion's slumbering chord, And tell to listening faith the rising of her Lord.
Yes, raise me o'er the dust and care of life,  A little way towards that celestial seat, Where, freed for aye from vanity and strife,  The "just made perfect" in communion meet; Show me their vestments gleaming from the sky, Pour through heaven's opening gate their echoed minstrelsy,
And I will thank thee, though to earth I turn,  And all too soon from thy bless'd precepts stray, Though in my breast its fever-thirst should burn,  And storm or shipwreck daunt my venturous way, Still will I grasp thee as a golden chain, And bind thee to my heart until we meet again.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Science and Religion

SCIENCE AND RELIGION.
"What gives the mind this globe of earth to scan, And chains brute instinct at the feet of man? Bids the red comet on its car of flame Reveal its periods and declare its name? With deathless radiance gilds the historic page, And reaps the laurels of a buried age?"  Majestic Science, from his cloister'd shrine, Heard and replied, "This glorious power is mine."  "But say, canst thou the erring spirit lead, That feels its weakness and deplores its need? Canst thou the prison of despair illume? Find sin a pardon, or disarm the tomb?"  With silent scorn the suppliant voice he spurn'd, And to his ponderous tomes indignant turn'd. Then from the cell, where long she dwelt apart, Her humble mansion in the contrite heart, Religion came; and where proud Science fail'd, She bent her knee to earth, and with her Sire prevail'd.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Sheep on the Cheviot Hills

SHEEP ON THE CHEVIOT HILLS.
Graze on, graze on, there comes no sound  Of border-warfare here, No slogan cry of gathering clan,  No battle-axe or spear; No belted knight in armour bright,  With glance of kindling ire, Doth change the sports of Chevy-Chase  To conflict stern and dire.
Ye wist not that ye press the spot  Where Percy held his way Across the marches, in his pride  The "chiefest hearts to slay," And where the stout Earl Douglas rode  Upon his milk-white steed, With fifteen hundred Scottish spears  To stay the invader's deed.
Graze on, graze on, there's many a rill,  Wild wandering through the glade, Where you may freely slake your thirst,  With none to make afraid; There's many a murmuring stream that flows  From Cheviot's terraced side, Yet not one drop of warrior's gore  Distains its crystal tide.
For Scotia from her hills hath come,  And Albion o'er the Tweed, To give the mountain breeze the feuds  That made their noblest bleed, And like two friends, around whose hearts  Some dire estrangement run, Love all the closer for the past,  And sit them down as one.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Return of the Parents

RETURN OF THE PARENTS.
Long had they sped O'er distant hill and valley, noting much God's goodness in the riches of the land, The summer fruitage, and the harvest hoard, The reaper, wrestling with the bearded wheat, And the proud torrent's glory, when it shakes The everlasting rock, nor yet forgets To sprinkle greenness on the lowliest flower, All trembling at its base. Much, too, they spake Of pleasure 'neath the hospitable roof Of sever'd kindred; how the quicken'd heart Wins, from such meetings, power to wipe away The dust of household care, which sometimes hangs In clouds o'er the clear spirit.  But anon The eloquent lip grew silent, for they drew Near that bless'd spot which throws all other lights Into strong shadow—home!  At that dear thought The bosom's pulse beat wildly, and the wheels Were all too slow, though scarce the eager steeds Obey'd the rein. And, as the mother spake Somewhat in murmurs of her youngest boy, There came a flood of beauty o'er her brow— For holy love hath beauty—which gray time Could never steal.
'Tis there, behind the trees, That well-known roof: and from the open door What a glad rush! The son, who fain would take His mother in his arms, as if her foot Was all too good for earth; and at his side The beautiful daughter, with her raven hair So smoothly folded o'er her classic brow; The infant, crowing in its nurse's arms; The bold boy, in his gladness springing up Even to his father's shoulder; lisping tongues, And little dancing feet, and outstretch'd hands Grasping the parents' skirts: it was a group That artist's pencil never yet hath sketch'd In all its plenitude.  And when I saw The brightness of the tear of joy, I felt How poor the pomp of princes, and the dross Of beaten gold, compared with that dear wealth— Home, and its gratulations, and the ties Which Heaven hath twisted round congenial souls, To draw them to itself.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Seed for Heaven

SEED FOR HEAVEN.
The boy sat listening to the words  That from his mother fell, Pure lessons, wrapp'd in gentle tones,  Like music's softest swell.
And oft he mark'd her musing brow,  With holy silence bright, And bless'd its placid smile, and deem'd  That angels loved the sight.
Yet when that mother laid her down  To rest in mouldering clay, The world's temptations o'er him roll'd,  And swept his faith away.
Like bird that scorns the fowler's snare,  He trifled with his fate, Forgot to seek the Spirit's aid,  Or for its teachings wait.
Yet once, as in his midnight watch,  The lonely deck he paced, With naught but solemn stars above,  And, round, old Ocean's waste,
Methought her warning voice, who long  'Neath the cold sods had slept, Spake forth from every rushing wave  That on resistless swept;
Methought a teardrop, like her own,  Fell from the gathering cloud, That round the slowly-rising moon  Had wreath'd its silver shroud;
Methought the searching eye of God  Flamed in his secret soul, And down the proud man bow'd, with tears,  To own its strong control:
The Saviour's lowly yoke he took,  His flinty heart was riven, And so the seed his mother sow'd  Brought forth rich fruit for Heaven.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/English Warsong

ENGLISH WARSONG.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Love, Pride and Forgetfulness

LOVE, PRIDE, AND FORGETFULNESS.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Madeline

MADELINE.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Hero to Leander

HERO TO LEANDER.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Lilian

LILIAN.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Love

LOVE.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Isabel

ISABEL.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Love and Death

LOVE AND DEATH.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Lost Hope

LOST HOPE.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Love and Sorrow

LOVE AND SORROW.
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Middle-Ages

MIDDLE-AGES
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Parted

PARTED
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Memorial Tablet

MEMORIAL TABLET
(Great War)
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Miracles

MIRACLES
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Picture-Show

PICTURE-SHOW
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Reconciliation

RECONCILIATION
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Slumber-Song

SLUMBER-SONG
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Memory

MEMORY
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Night on the Convoy

NIGHT ON THE CONVOY
(ALEXANDRIA-MARSEILLES)
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Prelude to an Unwritten Masterpiece

PRELUDE TO AN UNWRITTEN MASTERPIECE
# Ode (Emerson, "O tenderly the haughty day")

O tenderly the haughty day
* As "Ode sung in the Town Hall" in May-day and other pieces (1867)
* "Ode" in Poems (Household Edition, 1904)
# Ode: Sung on the Occasion of Decorating the Graves of the Confederate Dead at Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S.C., 1867

Sleep sweetly in your humble graves, Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause; Though yet no marble column craves The pilgrim here to pause
In seeds of laurel in the earth The blossom of your fame is blown, And somewhere, waiting for its birth, The shaft is in the stone!
Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years Which kept in trust your storied tombs, Behold! your sisters bring their tears, And these memorial blooms
Small tributes! but your shades will smile More proudly on these wreaths to-day, Than when some cannon-moulded pile Shall overlook this bay.
Stoop, angels, hither from the skies! There is no holier spot of ground Than where defeated valour lies, By mourning beauty crowned.
# Ode (Emerson, "Though loath to grieve")

Though loath to grieve
* Ode in Poems (1847)
* Ode in Poems (Household Edition, 1904)
# Ode Occasion'd by the Death of Mr. Thomson

Commemorative ode to the poet James Thomson, best known for The Seasons and The Castle of Indolence
ODE
Occasion'd by the DEATH of
Mr. THOMSON
By Mr. WILLIAM COLLINS.
LONDON:
Printed for R. Manby and H. S. Cox, on Ludgate-Hill. MDCCXLIX.
[ Price Six-pence. ]
ΤΟ
GEORGE LITTLETON, Esq;
THIS
ODE
IS INSCRIB'D BY
The AUTHOR.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The Scene of the following Stanzas is suppos'd to lie on the Thames near Richmond.
ODE
ΟΝ ΤΗΕ
Death of Mr. THOMSON.
FINIS.
* ↑ The Harp of Æolus, of which see a Description in the Castle of Indolence.
* ↑ Richmond-Church.
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
# Ode (1850) (Sargent)

from Ode (1850)
The camp has had its day of song; The sword, the bayonet, the plume Have crowded out of rhyme too long The plough, the anvil and the loom! O, not upon our tented fields Are Freedom's heroes bred alone; The training of the work-shop yields More heroes true than War has known!
Who drives the bolt, who shapes the steel, May, with a heart as valiant, smite, As he, who sees a foeman reel In blood before his blow of might! The skill that conquers space and time, That graces life, that lightens toil, May spring from courage more sublime Than that, which makes a realm its spoil.
Let, Labor, then, look up and see, His craft no pith of honor lacks; The soldier's rifle yet shall be Less honored than the woodman's axe! Let Art his own appointment prize, Nor deem that gold or outward height Can compensate the worth that lies In tastes that breed their own delight.
And may the time draw nearer still When men this sacred truth shall heed, That from the thought and from the will Must all that raises man proceed! Though Pride should hold our calling low, For us shall duty make it good; And we from truth to truth shall go Till life and death are understood.