OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Myths and Legends of British North America/Calendar (Shuswap)

CALENDAR
Shuswap
Beginning with March:
First.—Spring.
Second.—Grass month.
Third.—Root-digging month.
Fourth.—Strawberry month.
Fifth.—Berry month.
Sixth.—Salmon month.
Seventh.—Month when salmon get bad.
Eighth.—Month when the deer travel.
Ninth.—Month in which they return from hunting.
Tenth.—Remaining-at-home month.
Eleventh.—Midwinter month.
Twelfth.—Pil-tshik-in-tin (translation unknown).
# Myths and Legends of British North America/Capture of Wind (Chilcotin)

CAPTURE OF WIND
Chilcotin
ALONG time ago there was a chief who had many sons. In those days Wind used to blow furiously all the time, and the chief told one of his sons to capture Wind. The son made a snare and placed it in a tree. Then next morning, when he went to that tree, he found in the snare a small boy with a fat body and streaming hair. Now that boy was Wind. The chief's son kept him for some time, then he let him go free when Wind promised he would not blow so hard. Only once in a while could he blow hard, said the chief's son, and Wind agreed. So now he is free, and he does not blow nearly so hard as he used to.
# Myths and Legends of British North America/Coming of Fire (Сarrier)

COMING OF FIRE
Carrier
NOW after the animal people had won light by shouting "Khain," and "light," and had confused the old chief, they were very happy for a time. But they had no fire. The same old chief owned all the fire in the world. He kept it in his lodge, carefully guarded. Therefore the people resolved to steal it, because he would not give it to them.
Now the people laid their plans. They said Young Caribou and Muskrat must help. Then they put on their dancing aprons and their dancing masks, and went to the lodge of the old chief. Young Caribou had a fine headdress of pine shavings fastened to his horns. Young Muskrat had a dancing apron made of a marmot skin.
Oh, shelte! Oh, shelte!
Young Caribou, as he danced, jerked his head from side to side until the shavings caught fire. At once the old chief put them out with his hands. Everybody began to dance then, and Young Caribou let the shavings catch fire. And again the old chief put them out, though they were quite a blaze.
Now, while the old chief was busy watching Caribou, Muskrat had been busy. He had burrowed a tunnel through the earth. Then he quickly stole a piece of fire and slipped into his hole with it. The old chief was busy putting out the fire in the shavings on Caribou's horns. Everybody went on dancing.
Suddenly a person said, "Oh, look!" He pointed to a great mountain far away, near the edge of the sky. A great column of smoke rose from it. Then soon flames burst from the mountain top.
At once everybody knew that Muskrat had stolen the old chief's fire, and had given it to men and animals.
# My Maryland

This copy is not attributed, and was printed in Richmond during the Civil War. The song was originally printed in 1861.
My Maryland.
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
# My Melancholy Baby

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
[Verse]
    Come sweetheart mine,
    Don't sit and pine,
    Tell me of the cares that make you feel so blue.
    What have I done?
    Answer me, Hon',
    Have I ever said an unkind word to you?
    My love is true,
    And just for you,
    I'd do almost anything at any time,
    Dear, when you sigh
    Or when you cry,
    Something seems to grip this very heart of mine.
[Chorus]
    Come to me, my melancholy baby,
    Cuddle up and don't be blue;
    All your fears are foolish fancy, may be,
    You know, dear, that I'm in love with you.
    Ev'ry cloud must have a silver lining,
    Wait until the sun shines through,
    Smile my honey dear, while I kiss away each tear,
    Or else I shall be melancholy too.
[Verse]
    Birds in the trees,
    Whispering breeze,
    Should not fail to lul you in to peaceful dreams.
    So tell me why
    Sadly you sigh,
    Sitting at the window where the pale moon beams,
    You shouldn't grieve,
    Try and believe,
    Life is always sunshine when the heart beats true;
    Be of good cheer,
    Smile thro' your tears,
    When you're sad it makes me feel the same as you.
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
(lyrics)
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 1959, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 64 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
(music)
# My Mind to me a Kingdom is (unsourced)

The poem has been attributed to de Vere by Steven May, but has also been published as the work of Edward Dyer.
My mind to me a kingdom is; Such perfect joy therein I find That it excels all other bliss That world affords or grows by kind. Though much I want which most men have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
No princely pomp, no wealthy store, No force to win the victory, No wily wit to salve a sore, No shape to feed each gazing eye; To none of these I yield as thrall. For why my mind doth serve for all.
I see how plenty suffers oft, How hasty climbers soon do fall; I see that those that are aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all; They get with toil, they keep with fear. Such cares my mind could never bear.
Content I live, this is my stay; I seek no more than may suffice; I press to bear no haughty sway; Look what I lack my mind supplies; Lo, thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring.
I little have, and seek no more. They are but poor, though much they have, And I am rich with little store. They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; They lack, I leave, they pine, I live.
I laugh not at another's loss; I grudge not at another's gain: No worldly waves my mind can toss; My state at one doth still remain. I fear no foe, nor fawning friend; I loathe not life, nor dread my end.
Some weigh their pleasure by their lust, Their wisdom by their rage of will, Their treasure is their only trust; And cloaked craft their store of skill. But all the pleasure that I find Is to maintain a quiet mind.
My wealth is health and perfect ease; My conscience clear my chief defense; I neither seek by bribes to please, Nor by deceit to breed offense. Thus do I live; thus will I die. Would all did so as well as I!
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
# My Mind to me a Kingdom is

This poem is believed to be the work of Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford; some editions attribute it to Sir Edward Dyer.
* "Contentment" in Poems That Every Child Should Know (1904; 4 stanzas)
* "My Mind to me a Kingdom is", unsourced edition (8 stanzas)
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/Music from Shore

MUSIC FROM SHORE.
A sound comes on the rising breeze,  A sweet and lovely sound! Piercing the tumult of the seas  That wildly dash around.
From land, from sunny land it comes,  From hills with murmuring trees, From paths by still and happy homes—  That sweet sound on the breeze.
Why should its faint and passing sigh  Thus bid my quick pulse leap? No part in earth's glad melody  Is mine upon the deep.
Yet blessing, blessing on the spot,  Whence those rich breathings flow! Kind hearts, although they know me not,  Like mine there beat and glow.
And blessing, from the bark that roams  O'er solitary seas, To those that far in happy homes  Give sweet sounds to the breeze!
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/O'er the far blue mountains

O'ER THE FAR BLUE MOUNTAINS.*
O'er the far blue mountains,  O'er the white sea foam, Come, thou long parted one!  Back to thine home!
When the bright fire shineth,  Sad looks thy place, While the true heart pineth  Missing thy face.
Music is sorrowful  Since thou art gone, Sisters are mourning thee,  Come to thine own!
Hark! the home voices call  Back to thy rest; Come to thy father's hall,  Thy mother's breast!
O'er the far blue mountains,  O'er the white sea foam, Come, thou long parted one!  Back to thine home!
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/O ye voices gone

O YE VOICES GONE.*
Oh! ye voices gone,  Sounds of other years! Hush that haunting tone,  Melt me not to tears! All around forget,  All who loved you well, Yet, sweet voices, yet  O'er my soul ye swell.
With the winds of spring,  With the breath of flowers, Floating back, ye bring  Thoughts of vanished hours.
Hence your music take,  Oh! ye voices gone! This lone heart ye make  But more deeply lone.
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/Oh! Sky-Lark, for thy wing

IX.
OH! SKY-LARK, FOR THY WING.
Oh! Sky-lark, for thy wing!  Thou bird of joy and light, That I might soar and sing  At heaven's empyreal height!
With the heathery hills beneath me,  Whence the streams in glory spring, And the pearly clouds to wreath me  Oh sky-lark! on thy wing!
Free, free from earth-born fear,  I would range the blessed skies, Through the blue divinely clear,  Where the low mists cannot rise!
And a thousand joyous measures  From my chainless heart should spring, Like the bright rain's vernal treasures,  As I wandered on thy wing.
But oh! the silver chords,  That around the heart are spun, From gentle tones and words,  And kind eyes that make our sun!
To some low sweet nest returning,  How soon my love would bring, There, there the dews of morning,  Oh, sky-lark! on thy wing!
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/Oh! droop thou not

SONGS OF A GUARDIAN SPIRIT.
II.
OH! DROOP THOU NOT!
They sin who tell us love can die. With life all other passions fly; All others are but vanity. In heaven ambition cannot dwell, Nor avarice in the vaults of hell. Earthly these passions, as of earth— They perish where they drew their birth. But love is indestructible! Its holy flame for ever burneth; From heaven it came, to heaven returneth, Southey.
Oh! droop thou not, my gentle earthly love! Mine still to be! I bore thro' death, to brighter lands above, My thoughts of thee.
Yes! the deep memory of our holy tears, Our mingled prayer, Our suffering love, thro' long devoted years, Went with me there.
It was not vain, the hallow'd and the tried— It was not vain! Still, tho' unseen, still hovering at thy side, I watch again!
From our own paths, our love's attesting bowers, I am not gone; In the deep calm of midnight's whispering hours, Thou art not lone:
Not lone, when by the haunted stream thou weepest, That stream, whose tone Murmurs of thoughts, the richest and the deepest, We two have known:
Not lone, when mournfully some strain awaking Of days long past, From thy soft eyes the sudden tears are breaking, Silent and fast:
Not lone, when upwards, in fond visions turning Thy dreamy glance, Thou seek'st my home, where solemn stars are burning,
O'er night's expanse.
My home is near thee, lov'd one! and around thee, Where'er thou art; Tho' still mortality's thick cloud hath bound thee, Doubt not thy heart!
Hear its low voice, nor deem thyself forsaken— Let faith be given To the still tones which oft our being waken— They are of heaven!
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/Naples, a Song of the Siren

NAPLES.
A SONG OF THE SYREN.
Then gentle winds arose,  With many a mingled close, Of wild Æolian sound and mountain odour keen;  Where the clear Baian ocean  Welters with air-like motion Within, above, around its bowers of starry green. Shelley.
Still is the Syren warbling on thy shore, Bright City of the Waves!—her magic song Still, with a dreamy sense of extacy, Fills thy soft summer air:—and while my glance Dwells on thy pictured loveliness, that lay Floats thus o'er Fancy's ear; and thus to thee, Daughter of Sunshine! doth the Syren sing.
"Thine is the glad wave's flashing play, Thine is the laugh of the golden day, The golden day, and the glorious night, And the vine with its clusters all bathed in light! —Forget, forget, that thou art not free! Queen of the summer sea.
"Favored and crowned of the earth and sky! Thine are all voices of melody, Wandering in moonlight through fane and tower, Floating o'er fountain and myrtle bower; Hark! how they melt o'er thy glittering sea; —Forget that thou art not free!
"Let the wine flow in thy marble halls! Let the lute answer thy fountain falls! And deck thy feasts with the myrtle bough, And cover with roses thy glowing brow! Queen of the day and the summer sea, Forget that thou art not free!"
***** So doth the Syren sing, while sparkling waves Dance to her chaunt. But sternly, mournfully, O city of the deep! from Sybil grots And Roman tombs, the echoes of thy shore Take up the cadence of her strain alone, Murmuring—"Thou art not free!"
* ↑ errata
* ↑ errata
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/O'Connor's Child

O'CONNOR'S CHILD.
This piece was suggested by a picture in the possession of Mrs. Lawrence of Wavertree Hall.—It represents the "Hero's Child" of Campbell's Poem, seated beside a solitary tomb of rock, marked with a cross, in a wild and desert place. A tempest seems gathering in the angry skies above her, but the attitude of the drooping figure expresses the utter carelessness of desolation, and the countenance speaks of entire abstraction from all external objects.—A bow and quiver lie beside her, amongst the weeds and wild flowers of the desert.
O'CONNOR'S CHILD.
I fled the home of grief  At Connocht Moran's tomb to fall, I found the helmet of my Chief,  His bow still hanging on our wall; And took it down, and vowed to rove  This desert place, a huntress bold; Nor would I change my buried love  For any heart of living mould. Campbell.
The sleep of storms is dark upon the skies,  The weight of omens heavy in the cloud:— Bid the lorn huntress of the desert rise,  And gird the form whose beauty grief hath bowed, And leave the tomb, as tombs are left—alone, To the star's vigil, and the wind's wild moan.
Tell her of revelries in bower and hall,  Where gems are glittering, and bright wine is pour'd; Where to glad measures chiming footsteps fall,  And soul seems gushing from the harp's full chord; And richer flowers amid fair tresses wave, Than the sad "Love lies bleeding" of the grave.
Oh! little know'st thou of the o'ermastering spell,  Wherewith love binds the spirit strong in pain, To the spot hallowed by a wild farewell,  A parting agony,—intense, yet vain, A look—and darkness when it's gleam hath flown, A voice—and silence when it's words are gone!
She hears thee not; her full, deep, fervent heart  Is set in her dark eyes;—and they are bound Unto that cross, that shrine, that world apart,  Where faithful love hath sanctified the ground; And love with death striven long by tear and prayer, And anguish frozen into still despair.
Yet on her spirit hath arisen at last  A light, a joy, of its own wanderings born; Around her path a vision's glow is cast,  Back, back, her lost one comes, in hues of morn!* For her the gulf is filled—the dark night fled; Whose mystery parts the living and the dead.
And she can pour forth in such converse high,  All her soul's tide of love, the deep, the strong, Oh! lonelier far, perchance, thy destiny,  And more forlorn, amidst the world's gay throng, Than hers—the queen of that majestic gloom, The tempest, and the desert, and the tomb!
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/O thou breeze of Spring

O THOU BREEZE OF SPRING!*
O thou breeze of spring!  Gladdening sea and shore, Wake the woods to sing,  Wake my heart no more! Streams have felt the sighing  Of thy scented wing, Let each fount replying  Hail thee, breeze of spring, Once more!
O'er long buried flowers  Passing, not in vain, Odours in soft showers  Thou hast brought again. —Let the primrose greet thee,  Let the violet pour Incense forth to meet thee—  Wake my heart no more! No more!
From a funeral urn  Bowered in leafy gloom, Ev'n thy soft return  Calls not song or bloom. Leave my spirit sleeping  Like that silent thing; Stir the founts of weeping  There, O breeze of spring, No more!
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/Near thee, still near thee

SONGS OF A GUARDIAN SPIRIT.
I.
NEAR THEE, STILL NEAR THEE!*
Near thee, still near thee!—o'er thy path-way gliding, Unseen I pass thee with the wind's low sigh; Life's veil enfolds thee still, our eyes dividing, Yet viewless love floats round thee silently!
Not midst the festal throng, In halls of mirth and song;
But when thy thoughts are deepest, When holy tears thou weepest, Know then that love is nigh!
When the night's whisper o'er thy harp-strings creeping, Or the sea-music on the sounding shore, Or breezy anthems thro' the forest sweeping,  Shall move thy trembling spirit to adore;
When every thought and prayer We lov'd to breathe and share, On thy full heart returning, Shall wake its voiceless yearning; Then feel me near once more!
Near thee, still near thee!—trust thy soul's deep dreaming! —Oh! love is not an earthly Rose to die! Ev'n when I soar where fiery stars are beaming, Thine image wanders with me thro' the sky.
The fields of air are free, Yet lonely, wanting thee; But when thy chains are falling, When heaven its own is calling, Know then, thy guide is nigh!
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/Night Blowing Flowers

NIGHT-BLOWING FLOWERS.
Children of night! unfolding meekly, slowly To the sweet breathings of the shadowy hours, When dark-blue heavens look softest and most holy, And glow-worm light is in the forest bowers;
To solemn things and deep, To spirit-haunted sleep, To thoughts, all purified From earth, ye seem allied;  O dedicated flowers!
Ye, from the gaze of crowds your beauty veiling, Keep in dim vestal urns the sweetness shrined; Till the mild moon, on high serenely sailing, Looks on you tenderly and sadly kind.
—So doth love's dreaming heart Dwell from the throng apart, And but to shades disclose The inmost thought which glows  With its pure life entwined.
Shut from the sounds wherein the day rejoices, To no triumphant song your petals thrill, But send forth odours with the faint soft voices Rising from hidden streams, when all is still.
So doth lone prayer arise, Mingling with secret sighs, When grief unfolds, like you, Her breast, for heavenly dew  In silent hours to fill.
# Newmanianism/I

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
§ I. The Motive of the Author
This book was originally meant to be a chapter in a larger work on Newman; and the intention was to compress into it most of the severe things which, in common honesty, it seemed needful to say about Newman's use of words and evidence in controversy, so as to leave freedom for a more sympathetic treatment of the subject as a whole in the rest of the work.
But, on investigation, the grounds for censure appeared much larger than I had anticipated; and, when I came to study the Essay on Ecclesiastical Miracles, the mental and almost moral shock which I received from that portentous work -and from the amazing fact that it had been thought well to reprint such a production in the year 1890- caused my single chapter to grow first into several chapters and ultimately into a separate volume.
My book is intended as an attack, not against Newman himself, but against the whole of that theological "system of safety" which would pollute the intellect with the suggestion that it is "safe" to say this, and "unsafe" to say that, about alleged historical facts. In answer to someone who had reported a saying that Cardinal (then Dr.) Wiseman "was an unscrupulous controversialist", Newman replied (Letters, ii. 324) "I daresay he is. But who is not?" How strange an avowal, almost amounting to a condonation! And yet, is it not true? Is it not a fact, -though a portentous fact- that men are expected to argue with scrupulous honesty about Thucydides or Aristotles, but not about the facts of the Bible or the history of the Christian Church? My war, then, is not with Newman, but with the system which Newman in these words (perhaps unconsciously) condemns.
Such letters as I have received already (within little more than a fortnight from the date of publication), from eminent men well fitted to weigh evidence and to discuss the special questions here treated, lead me to hope that my book is not only substantially accurate but also helpful to the cause of religious truth. But it was of course impossible to attempt to dispel that kind of legendary exaggeration which had gradually attached itself to the popular estimate of Newman's work, without giving pain to some of his admirers.
When a man of such high intellectual standing as Mr. R.H. Hutton, could quote passage after passage from Newman's works -passages teeming with fallacies or with expressions leading to erroneus conclusions- with an approval wich, when combined with the intrinsic plausibility of the quotations, imposes upon multitudes of readers (among whom the present writer must confess that he was, at first, one); and when so able a critic could bring himself to use the words "sobriety" and "discrimination" in connection with one of Newman's so-called "inquires" into an alleged ecclesiastical miracle, it seemed clear that something must be done, and no less clear that nothing useful could be done without giving offence to some whom one was very loath to offend, but who were so blinded by Newman's magnetic influence that, in criticizing his works, they had lost all power of distinguishing truth from untruth.
# National Bank v. Matthews/Dissent Miller

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
* Dissenting Opinion Miller
United States Supreme Court
98 U.S. 621
National Bank v. Matthews
MR. JUSTICE MILLER dissenting.
I am of opinion that the National Banking Act makes void every mortgage or other conveyance of land as a security for money loaned by the bank at the time of the transaction to whomsoever the conveyance may be made; that the bank is forbidden to accept such security, and it is void in its hands.
The contract to pay the money, and the collateral conveyance for security, are separable contracts, and so far independent that one may stand and the other fall.
In the present case, the money was loaned on the faith of the deed of trust, and that instrument is void in the hands of the bank, but the note, as evidence of the loan of money, is valid against Mrs. Matthews personally. With this latter contract the State court did not interfere. It enjoined proceedings under the deed of trust against the land, and did no more.
Its judgment in that matter ought, in my opinion, to be affirmed.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# National Bank v. Omaha

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
96 U.S. 737
National Bank v. Omaha
APPEAL from the Circuit Court of the United States for the District of Nebraska.
Mr. J. M. Woolworth for the appellant.
No counsel appeared for the appellee.
MR. CHIEF JUSTICE WAITE delivered the opinion of the court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse