OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Ramayana/Book II/Canto XIII: Das'aratha's Distress

Unworthy of his mournful fate, The mighty king, unfortunate, Lay prostrate in unseemly guise, As, banished from the blissful skies, Yayáti, in his evil day. His merit all exhausted, lay. The queen, triumphant in the power Won by her beauty's fatal dower, Still terrible and unsubdued, Her dire demand again renewed: 'Great Monarch,'twas thy boast till now To love the truth and keep the vow; Then wherefore would thy lips refuse The promised boon 'tis mine to choose?' King Das'aratha, thus addressed, With anger raging in his breast, Sank for a while beneath the pain, Then to Kaikeyí spoke again:
'Childless so long, at length I won, With mighty toil, from Heaven a son, Ráma, the mighty-armed; and how Shall I desert my darling now? A scholar wise, a hero bold, Of patient mood, with wrath controlled, How can I bid my Ráma fly, My darling of the lotus eye? In heaven itself I scarce could bear, When asking of my Ráma there, To hear the Gods his griefs declare, And O, that death would take me hence Before I wrong his innocence!'
As thus the monarch wept and wailed, And maddening grief his heart assailed, The sun had sought his resting-place, And night was closing round apace. But yet the moon-crowned night could bring No comfort to the wretched king. As still he mourned with burning sighs And fixed his gaze upon the skies: 'O Night whom starry fires adorn, I long not for the coming morn. Be kind and show some mercy: see, My suppliant hands are raised to thee. Nay, rather fly with swifter pace; No longer would I see the face Of Queen Kaikeyí, cruel, dread, Who brings this woe upon mine head.' Again with suppliant hands he tried To move the queen, and wept and sighed: 'To me, unhappy me, inclined To good, sweet dame, thou shouldst be kind; Whose life is well-nigh fled, who cling To thee for succour, me thy king. This, only this, is all my claim: Have mercy, O my lovely dame. None else have I to take my part. Have mercy: thou art good at heart. Hear, lady of the soft black eye. And win a name that ne'er shall die: Let Ráma rule this glorious land, The gift of thine imperial hand. O lady of the dainty waist, With eyes and lips of beauty graced, Please Ráma, me, each saintly priest, Bharat, and all from chief to least.'
She heard his wild and mournful cry, She saw the tears his speech that broke, Saw her good husband's reddened eye, But, cruel still, no word she spoke. His eyes upon her face he bent, And sought for mercy, but in vain: She claimed his darling's banishment, He swooned upon the ground again.
# The Sense of the Past

Posthumously published, unfinished novel. For James' notes describing his plan for the novel, see Notes for The Sense of the Past.
* The Sense of the Past (London: W. Collins Sons & Co., 1917)
    — First English book edition
* The Sense of the Past (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1917)
    — First American book edition; a small number of copies were bound with front matter identifying it as Volume 26 of The Novels and Tales of Henry James (i.e. the "New York Edition"), and sold exclusively to collection subscribers.
# The Sensitive Plant

* "The Sensitive Plant", in Prometheus Unbound; a lyrical drama in four acts with other poems (1820), by Percy Bysshe Shelley
* "The Sensitive Plant", in The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley (1914)
# The Sentiment of the Sword

* Preface by Theodore A. Cook
* Foreword
* The First Evening
* The Second Evening
* The Third Evening
* The Fourth Evening
* The Fifth Evening
* The Sixth Evening
* The Seventh Evening
* The Eighth Evening
* The Ninth Evening
# The Sense of the Past (London: W. Collins Sons & Co., 1917)

First English edition. First (posthumous) publication of James' unfinished novel The Sense of the Past, along with his notes for it.
THE
SENSE OF THE PAST
HENRY JAMES
THE SENSE OF THE PAST
* Annan Ph. sc.
Henry James
from a photograph by Alvin Landon Coburn kindly lent by Mr. J. B. Pinker
THE SENSE OF THE PAST
BY
HENRY JAMES
LONDON: 48 PALL MALL
W. COLLINS SONS & CO. LTD.
GLASGOW MELBOURNE AUCKLAND
COPYRIGHT
1917
PREFACE
The Sense of the Past, the second of the two novels which Henry James left unfinished, had been planned and begun some years before he died. The two first books and a part of the third had been written, and it appears that the idea had been abandoned for accidental reasons, not because he was himself dissatisfied with it. He went back to it again during the first winter of the war, having found that in the conditions he could not then go on with The Ivory Tower and hoping that he might be able to work upon a story of remote and phantasmal life. He re-dictated, with slight modifications, the chapters already written, and continued the book at intervals until the autumn of 1915. He was then engaged for a time on other work the introduction to the Letters from America of Rupert Brooke. He had just finished this and was preparing to return immediately to The Sense of the Past when on December 2 he was attacked by his last illness. The ​later chapters of the novel, as they stand, had not been finally revised by him; but it was never his habit to make more than verbal changes at that stage.
The notes on the course which the book was to follow were dictated when he reached the point where the original draft broke off. These notes are given in full; their part in Henry James's method of work is indicated in the preface to The Ivory Tower.
PERCY LUBBOCK.
CONTENTS
| | PAGE |
| The Sense of the Past | 1 |
| Notes for The Sense of the Past | 285 |
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 Poetical Works of Thomas Gray/Ode on the Spring

For a detailed, annotated version of this poem, visit The Thomas Gray Archive
Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, Fair Venus' train appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers, And wake the purple year! The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring: While whisp'ring pleasure as they fly, Cool zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky Their gather'd fragrance fling.
Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch A broader, browner shade; Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade, Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclin'd in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
Still is the toiling hand of Care: The panting herds repose: Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air The busy murmur glows! The insect youth are on the wing, Eager to taste the honied spring, And float amid the liquid noon: Some lightly o'er the current skim, Some show their gaily-gilded trim Quick-glancing to the sun.
To Contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of man: And they that creep, and they that fly, Shall end where they began. Alike the busy and the gay But flutter thro' life's little day, In fortune's varying colours drest: Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, Or chill'd by age, their airy dance They leave, in dust to rest.
Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive kind reply: Poor moralist! and what art thou? A solitary fly! Thy joys no glitt'ring female meets, No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, No painted plumage to display: On hasty wings thy youth is flown; Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone— We frolic, while 'tis May.
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 Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell

THE ALDINE EDITION OF THE BRITISH POETS
THE POEMS OF THOMAS PARNELL
Published by William Pickering London 1833.
THE POETICAL WORKS OF THOMAS PARNELL
LONDON
WILLIAM PICKERING 1833
CHARLES WHITTINGHAM, LONDON.
CONTENTS.
IGNOSCENDA ISTHÆC AN COGNOSCENDA REARIS
ATTENTO DREPANI PERLEGE JUDICIO
ÆQUANIMUS FIAM TE JUDICE SIVE LEGENDA
SIVE TEGENDA PUTES CARMINA QUÆ DEDIMUS
POSSUM EGO CENSURAM LECTORIS FERRE SEVERI
ET POSSUM MODICA LAUDE PLACERE MIHI
AUSONIUS C. L. DREPANO PAR. PROL.
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 Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott/Rokeby

* Canto I
* Canto II
* Canto III
* Canto IV
* Canto V
* Canto VI
# The Poetical Works of Thomas Gray/Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College

III. ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.
[See Musæ Etonenses, vol. i. p. 229, and Brit. Bibliographer, vol. ii. p. 214.]
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Variants
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Notes
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# The Poetical Works of Robert Burns/Young Jockey

YOUNG JOCKEY.
# The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott

MARMION
THE
POETICAL WORKS
OF
SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
COMPRISING
The Lay of the Last Minstrel; Marmion; The Lady of the Lake; Vision of Don Roderick; Rokeby; The Bridal of Triermain; The Lord of the Isles; Ballads, Songs, and Lyrical Pieces.
A NEW EDITION,
With Eight Illustrations by Corbould.
LONDON: G. ROUTLEDGE & CO. FARRINGDON STREET;
NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STEEET.
1858.
CONTENTS.
Contributions to Border Minstrelsy.
Translations & Imitations of German Ballads.
Miscellaneous.
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 Poetical Works of Thomas Gray/Sonnet on the Death of Mr. Richard West

SONNET
ON THE DEATH OF MR. RICHARD WEST.
[See W. S. Landori Poemata, p. 186.]
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Notes
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# The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell/Poem 22

A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT.
Lovely, lasting peace of mind!
Sweet delight of human-kind!
Heavenly-born, and bred on high,
To crown the favourites of the sky
With more of happiness below,
Than victors in a triumph know!
Whither, O whither art thou fled,
To lay thy meek, contented head;
What happy region dost thou please
To make the seat of calms and ease!
Ambition searches all its sphere
Of pomp and state, to meet thee there.
Encreasing Avarice would find
Thy presence in its gold enshrin'd.
The bold adventurer ploughs his way,
Through rocks amidst the foaming sea,
To gain thy love; and then perceives
Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.
The silent heart, which grief assails,
Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales,
Sees daisies open, rivers run,
And seeks, as I have vainly done,
Amusing thought; but learns to know
That solitude's the nurse of woe.
No real happiness is found
In trailing purple o'er the ground;
Or in a soul exalted high,
To range the circuit of the sky,
Converse with stars above, and know
All nature in its forms below;
The rest it seeks, in seeking dies,
And doubts at last, for knowledge, rise.
Lovely, lasting peace, appear!
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden blest,
And man contains it in his breast.
'Twas thus, as under shade I stood,
I sung my wishes to the wood,
And lost in thought, no more perceiv'd
The branches whisper as they wav'd:
It seem'd, as all the quiet place
Confess'd the presence of the Grace.
When thus she spoke—"Go rule thy will,
Bid thy wild passions all be still,
Know God—and bring thy heart to know
The joys which from religion flow:
Then every Grace shall prove its guest,
And I'll be there to crown the rest."
Oh! by yonder mossy seat,
In my hours of sweet retreat,
Might I thus my soul employ,
With sense of gratitude and joy!
Rais'd as ancient prophets were,
In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer;
Pleasing all men, hurting none,
Pleas'd and bless'd with God alone:
Then while the gardens take my sight,
With all the colours of delight;
While silver waters glide along,
To please my ear, and court my song;
I'll lift my voice, and tune my string,
And thee, great source of nature, sing.
The sun that walks his airy way,
To light the world, and give the day;
The moon that shines with borrow'd light;
The stars that gild the gloomy night;
The seas that roll unnumber'd waves;
The wood that spreads its shady leaves;
The field whose ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain;
All of these, and all I see,
Should be sung, and sung by me:
They speak their maker as they can,
But want and ask the tongue of man.
Go search among your idle dreams,
Your busy or your vain extremes;
And find a life of equal bliss,
Or own the next begun in this.
# The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell/Poem 17

AN ELEGY, TO AN OLD BEAUTY.
In vain, poor nymph, to please our youthful sight
You sleep in cream and frontlets all the night,
Your face with patches soil, with paint repair,
Dress with gay gowns, and shade with foreign hair.
If truth, in spite of manners, must be told,
Why really fifty-five is something old.
Once you were young; or one, whose life's so long
She might have borne my mother, tells me wrong:
And once, since envy's dead before you die,
The women own, you play'd a sparkling eye,
Taught the light foot a modish little trip,
And pouted with the prettiest purple lip.
To some new charmer are the roses fled,
Which blew, to damask all thy cheek with red;
Youth calls the Graces there to fix their reign,
And airs by thousands fill their easy train.
So parting summer bids her flowery prime
Attend the sun to dress some foreign clime,
While withering seasons in succession, here,
Strip the gay gardens, and deform the year.
But thou, since nature bids, the world resign;
'Tis now thy daughter's daughter's time to shine.
With more address, or such as pleases more,
She runs her female exercises o'er,
Unfurls or closes, raps or turns the fan,
And smiles, or blushes at the creature man.
With quicker life, as gilded coaches pass,
In sideling courtesy she drops the glass.
With better strength, on visit-days, she bears
To mount her fifty flights of ample stairs.
Her mien, her shape, her temper, eyes, and tongue,
Are sure to conquer,—for the rogue is young;
And all that's madly wild, or oddly gay,
We call it only pretty Fanny's way.
Let time, that makes you homely, make you sage;
The sphere of wisdom is the sphere of age.
'Tis true, when beauty dawns with early fire,
And hears the flattering tongues of soft desire,
If not from virtue, from its gravest ways
The soul with pleasing avocation strays:
But beauty gone, 'tis easier to be wise;
As harpers better, by the loss of eyes.
Henceforth retire, reduce your roving airs,
Haunt less the plays, and more the public prayers,
Reject the Mechlin head, and gold brocade,
Go pray, in sober Norwich crape array'd.
Thy pendant diamonds let thy Fanny take,
(Their trembling lustre shows how much you shake;)
Or bid her wear thy necklace row'd with pearl,
You'll find your Fanny an obedient girl.
So for the rest, with less incumbrance hung,
You walk through life, unmingled with the young;
And view the shade and substance, as you pass,
With joint endeavour trifling at the glass,
Or Folly drest, and rambling all her days,
To meet her counterpart, and grow by praise:
Yet still sedate yourself, and gravely plain,
You neither fret, nor envy at the vain.
'Twas thus, if man with woman we compare,
The wise Athenian cross'd a glittering fair.
Unmov'd by tongues and sights, he walk'd the place,
Through tape, toys, tinsel, gimp, perfume, and lace:
Then bends from Mars's hill his awful eyes,
And—'What a world I never want!' he cries;
But cries unheard; for Folly will be free.
So parts the buzzing gaudy crowd, and he: As careless he for them, as they for him;
He wrapt in wisdom, and they whirl'd by whim.
# The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell/Poem 20

AN IMITATION OF SOME FRENCH VERSES.
Relentless Time! destroying power,
Whom stone and brass obey,
Who giv'st to every flying hour
To work some new decay;
Unheard, unheeded, and unseen,
Thy secret saps prevail,
And ruin man, a nice machine,
By nature form'd to fail.
My change arrives; the change I meet,
Before I thought it nigh:
My spring, my years of pleasure fleet,
And all their beauties die.
In age I search, and only find
A poor unfruitful gain,
Grave Wisdom stalking slow behind,
Oppress'd with loads of pain.
My ignorance could once beguile,
And fancied joys inspire;
My errors cherish'd Hope to smile
On newly-born Desire.
But now experience shews the bliss
For which I fondly sought,
Not worth the long impatient wish,
And ardour of the thought.
My youth met Fortune fair array'd,
(In all her pomp she shone,)
And might, perhaps, have well essay'd
To make her gifts my own:
But when I saw the blessings shower
On some unworthy mind,
I left the chase, and own'd the power
Was justly painted blind.
I pass'd the glories which adorn
The splendid courts of kings,
And while the persons mov'd my scorn,
I rose to scorn the things.
My manhood felt a vigorous fire,
By love increased the more;
But years with coming years conspire
To break the chains I wore.
In weakness safe, the sex I see
With idle lustre shine;
For what are all their joys to me,
Which cannot now be mine?
But hold—I feel my gout decrease,
My troubles laid to rest,
And truths, which would disturb my peace,
Are painful truths at best.
Vainly the time I have to roll
In sad reflection flies;
Ye fondling passions of my soul!
Ye sweet deceits! arise.
I wisely change the scene within,
To things that us'd to please;
In pain, philosophy is spleen,
In health, 'tis only ease.
# The Saturday Evening Post/The Dollar Chasers

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Commons category, Wikidata item.
Extracted from The Saturday Evening Post, 16 Feb 1924, pp. 2–3, 99 etc; 23 Feb 1924, pp. 20–21, 54, etc. Included in Earl Derr Biggers Tells Ten Stories (1933)
“Who Said Anything About Blackmail? I Was Just Going to Add That Whatever You Get, You're Overpaid, for You're the Stupidest Whippersnapper I've Ever Met”
The Dollar Chasers
By Earl Derr Biggers
ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN
* Chapter I Feb 16,
* Chapter II Feb 16,
* Chapter III Feb 16,
* Chapter IV Feb 16,
* Chapter V Feb 23,
* Chapter VI Feb 23,
* Chapter VII Feb 23
* Chapter VIII Feb 23
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 1933, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 90 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
# The Saturday Evening Post/The Buckled Bag

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Commons category, Wikidata item.
EExtracted from The Saturday Evening Post, 1914, 10 Jan 1914, pp. 3–5, 29–32 & 17 Jan, pp. 12–15, 45–48. Hilda Adams mystery series #1.
THE BUCKLED BAG
By MARY ROBERTS RINEHART
ILLUSTRATED BY W. B KING
* PART I 10 Jan, p. 03
* PART II 17 Jan, p. 12
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 1958, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 65 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.
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# The Sentimental Songster/The Boatie Rows

THE BOATIE ROWS.
O weel may the bottie row, And better may she speed; And liesome may the boatie row, That wins the bairns’ bread; The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows indeed; And weel may the boatie row, That wins my bairns’ bread.
When Jamie vow’d he wad be mine; And wan frae me my heart, O muckle lighter grew my creel, He swore we’d never part: The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows fu’ weel, And muckle lighter is the load, When love bears up the creel.
When Sawney, Jock, and Janetie, Are up an gotten lair; They’ll help to gar the boatie row, And lighten a’ our care. The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows fu' weel, And lightsome be her heart that bears, The murlain and the creel.
And when wi’ age we’re worn down, And hirpling round the door, They'll help to keep us dry and warm, As we did them before; ​Then weel may the boatie row. She wins the bairns' bread; And happy be the lot o’ a’, That wish the boatie speed.
# The Sentimental Songster/Marry for Love and Work for Siller

"MARRY FOR LOVE AND WORK FOR SIL(illegible text)
When I and my Jenny thegither were tied, We had but sma’ share o’ the world between us; Yet lo’ed ither weel, and had youth on our side, And strength and guid health were abundantly gi'(illegible text) I warsled and toiled through the fair and the foul, And she was right carfu’ o’ what I brought till he(illegible text) For aye we had mind o’ the canny auld rule, Just "marry for love, and work for siller." ​Our bairns they cam' thick—we were thankfu’ for that, For the bit and the brattie cam' aye alang wi’ them;
Our pan we exchanged for a guid muckle pat, And somehow or ither, we aye had to gi’e them. Our laddies grew up, and they wrought wi’ mysel’, Ilk ane gat as buirdly and stout as a miller, Our lasses they keeper us trig aye, and bale, And now we can count a bit trifle o' siller.
But I and my Jenny are baith wearin’ down, And our lads and our lassies hae a' gotten married Yet see, we can rank wi’ the best i' the town, Though our noddles we never to paughtily carried. And mark me—I’ve now got a braw cockit hat, And in our civic building am reckon'd a pillar; Is na that a bit honour for ane to get at, Wha married for love, and wha wrought for siller?
# The Sentimental Songster/Smile again my Bonny Lassie

SMILE GAIN, MY BONNIE LASSIE
Smile again, my bonnie lassie, lassie, smile again, Prithee, do not frown, sweet lassie, for it gives me pain. If to love thee too sincerely be a fault in me, Thus to use me so severely is not kind in thee. Oh! smile again, my bonnie lassie, lassie, smile again, Oh! smile again my bonnie lassie, prithe, smile again.
Fare-thee-well! my bonnie lassie, lassie, fare-thee-well! Time will show thee, bonnie lassie, more than tongue can tell. Tho' we’re doom’d, by fate to sever (and ’tis hard to part, Still believe me, thou shall ever own my faithful heart. Then smile again, my bonnie lassie, lassie, smile again, Oh! smile again, my bonnie lassie, prithee, smile again.