OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems upon Several Occasions/77

Epilogue to the Jew of Venice.
EACH in his turn, the Poet, and the Priest, Have view'd the Stage, but like false Prophets guest: The Man of Zeal, in his Religious Rage, Wou'd silence Poets, and reduce the Stage. The Poet, rashly to get clear, retorts On Kings the Scandal, and bespatters Courts. Both err: For, without mincing, to be plain, The Guilt's your own, of every odious Scene. The present Time still gives the Stage its Mode: The Vices that you practise, we explode: We hold the Glass, and but reflect your Shame, Like Spartans, by exposing, to reclaim. The Scribler, pinch'd with Hunger, writes to dine, And to your Genius must conform his Line; Not lewd by Choice, but meerly to submit; Wou'd you encourage Sense, Sense would be writ.
Good Plays we try, which after the first Day Unseen we act, and to bare Benches play; Plain Sense, which pleas'd your Sires an Age ago, Is lost, without the Garniture of Show.
At vast Expence, we labour to our Ruin, And court your Favour, with our own Undoing; A War of Profit mitigates the Evil, But to be tax'd———and beaten———is the Devil. How was the Scene forlorn, and how despis'd, When Timon without Musick, moraliz'd; Shakespear's Sublime in vain entic'd the Throng, Without the Aid of Purcell's Siren Song.
In the same antique Loom these Scenes were wrought, Embellish'd with good Morals and just Thought, True Nature in her nobles Light you see,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ Ere yet debauch'd by modern Gallantry To trifling Jests, and fulsome Ribaldry: What Rust remains upon the shining Mass, Antiquity must privilege to pass. 'Tis Shakespear's Play, and if these Scenes miscarry, LetGorman take the Stage———orLady Mary.
* ↑ Mr. Dryden, in his Prologue to the Pilgrim.
* ↑ Mr. Collier, in his View of the Stage.
* ↑ A famous Prize fighter.
* ↑ A famous Rope-dancer.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/78

Prologue to the British Enchanters.
POETS by Observation find it true, 'Tis harder much to please themselves, than you: To weave a Plot, to work and to refine A labour'd Scene, to polish ev'ry Line, Judgment must sweat, and feel a Mother's Pains: Vain Fools! thus to disturb and rack their Brains, When more indulgent to the Writer's Ease, You are too good, to be so hard to please: No such convulsive Pangs it will require To write———the pretty Things that you admire. Our Author then to please you in your Way, Presents you now a Bawble of a Play, In gingling Rhyme, well fortify'd and strong, He fights entrench'd, o'er Head and Ears, in Song. If here and there some evil-fated Line Shou'd chance, thro' Inadvertency, to shine, Forgive him, Beaus, he means you no Offence,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ But begs you, for the Love of Song and Dance, To pardon———All the Poetry and Sense.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/71

To my Friend Dr. Garth, in his Sickness.
MAchaon sick, in ev'ry Face we find His Danger is the Danger of Mankind, Whose Art protecting, Nature cou'd expire But by a Deluge, or the general Fire. More Lives he saves than perish in our Wars, And faster than a Plague destroys, repairs: The bold Carowser, and advent'ring Dame, Nor fear the Fever, nor refuse the Flame,
Safe in his Skill, from all Restraint set free, But conscious Shame, Remorse, and Piety. Sire of all Arts, defend thy darling Son, O save the Man, whose Life's so much our own, On whom, like Atlas, the whole World's reclin'd, And, by restoring Garth, preserve Mankind.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/73

WHAT Hands Divine have planted, and protect, The Torrent spares, and Deluges respect; So when the Waters o'er the World were spread, Cov'ring each Oak, and ev'ry Mountain's Head, The chosen Noah sail'd within his Ark, Nor might the Waves o'erwhelm the sacred Bark. The charming Flavia is no less, we find, The Favourite of Heav'n, than of Mankind; The Gods, like Rivals, imitate our Care, And vie with Mortals, to oblige the Fair; These Favours, thus bestow'd on her alone, Are but the Homage that they send her down. O Flavia, may thy Virtue from above Be crown'd with Blessings endless as my Love.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/76

I Who have been the Poet's Spark to-day, Will now become the Champion of his Play, Know all, who wou'd pretend to my good Grace, I mortally dislike a damning Face. Plea'd or displeas'd, no matter, now 'tis past; The first who dares be angry breaths his last: Who shall presume to doubt my Will and Pleasure, Him I defie to send his Weapon's Measure: If War you chuse, and Blood must needs be spilt here, By Jove, let me alone to match your Tilter, I'll give you Satisfaction if I can; 'Sdeath, 'tis not the first time I've kill'd my Man. On Pain of being posted to your Sorrow, Fail not, at Four, to meet me here To-morrow.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/79

Epilogue design'd for the same.
WIT once, like Beauty, without Art or Dress, Naked and unadorn'd, cou'd find Success, 'Till by Fruition Novelty destroy'd, The Nymph must find new Charms to be enjoy'd. As by his Equipage the Man you prize, And Ladies must have Gems, beside their Eyes; So fares it too with Plays: in vain we write,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ Unless the Musick or the Show invite; Not Hamlet clears the Charges of the Night. Wou'd you but fix some Standard how to move, We wou'd transform to any thing you love: Judge our Desire by our Cost and Pains, Sure in Expence, uncertain in our Gains. But tho' we fetch them from Italy and France$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ Our Fopperies of Tune, and Mode of Dance, Our sturdy Britons scorn to borrow Sense: Howe'er to Foreign Fashions we submit, Still ev'ry Fop prefers his Mother Wit: In only Wit this Constancy is shown,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ For never was that arrant Changeling known Who, for another's Sense, wou'd quit his own. In all things else to love of Change enclin'd,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ Scarce in two following Sessions can we find That Politician—but has chang'd his Mind:
But sure such Patriots change not, but forget; 'Tis want of Memory, the Curse of Wit. Our Author wou'd excuse these youthful Scenes, Begotten at his Entrance in his Teens; Some childish Fancies may approve the Toy, Some like the Muse the more———for being a Boy; And Ladies shou'd be pleas'd, tho' not content, To find so young a Thing not impotent. Our Stage Reformers too he wou'd disarm, In Charity so cold, in Zeal so warm, And therefore, to atone for past Abuses,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ And gain the Church Indulgence for the Muses, He gives his Thirds to charitable Uses.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/70

THO' built by Gods, consum'd by hostile Flame Troy bury'd lyes, yet lives the Trojan Name, And so shall thine, tho' with these Walls were lost All the Records thy Ancestors cou'd boast. For Latium conquer'd, and for Turnus slain, Æneas lives, tho' not one Stone remain Where he arose: Nor art thou less renown'd For thy loud Triumphs on Hungarian Ground.
Those Arms which for nine Centuries had brav'd The Wrath of Time, on antick Stone engrav'd, Now torn by Mortars, stand yet undefac'd On nobler Trophies by thy Valour rais'd: Safe on thy Eagles Wings they soar, above$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ The Rage of War, or Thunder to remove, Born by the Bird of Cæsar, and of Jove.
* ↑ The Arms of his Family, at that time still remaining on one of the Gates of the Town.
* ↑ Created a Count of the Roman Empire, with Privilage to quarter his Arms on the Imperial Spread Eagle, in acknowledgment of his Bravery at the Relief of Vienna, and several other Occasions in the War of Hungary, where his Lordship serv'd a Volunteer.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/72

SONG. To Myra.
I.
THE happiest Mortals once were we, I lov'd Myra, Myra me; Each desirous of the Blessing, Nothing wanting but Possessing; I lov'd Myra, Myra me; The happiest Mortals once were we.
II.
But since cruel Fates dissever, Torn from Love, and torn for ever, Tortures end me, Death befriend me; Of all Pains the greatest Pain Is to love—and love in vain.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/75

Prologue to the She-Gallants.
AS quiet Monarchs, that on peaceful Thrones In Sports and Revels long had reign'd like Drones, Rousing at length, reflect with Guilt and Shame That not one Stroke had yet been given for Fame, Wars they denounce, and to redeem the past, To bold Attempts and rugged Labours haste. Our Poet so with like Concern reviews The youthful Follies of his Love-sick Muse. To amorous Toils, and to the silent Grove, To Beauty's Snares, and to deceitful Love, He bids farewel: His Shield and Lance prepares, And mounts the Stage, to bid Immortal Wars.
Vice, like some Monster, suff'ring none t'escape, Has seiz'd the Town, and varies still her Shape. Here, like a General she struts in State, While Crowds in Red and Blue her Orders wait. There, like some pensive Statesman, walks demure, And smiles, and hugs, to make Destruction sure; Now, under high Commodes, with Looks erect, Barefac'd devours, in gaudy Colours deck'd; Then in a Vizard, to avoid Grimace, Allows all Freedom, but to see the Face. In Pulpits, and at Bar, she wears a Gown. In Camps a Sword, in Palaces a Crown. Resolv'd to combat with this motley Beast, Our Poet comes to strike one Stroke at least. His Glass he means not for this Jilt or Beau, Some Features of you all he hopes to show; On chosen Heads nor lets the Thunder fall, But scatters his Artillery at All. Yet to the Fair he fain wou'd Quarter show, His tender Heart recoils at ev'ry Blow; If unawares he give too smart a Stroke, He means but to correct, and not provoke.
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/Nell Gwyn

NELL GWYN.
Sweet heart, that no taint of the throne or the stage Could touch with unclean transformation, or alter To the likeness of courtiers whose consciences falter At the smile or the frown, at the mirth or the rage, Of a master whom chance could infiame or assuage, Our Lady of Laughter, invoked in no psalter, Adored of no faithful that cringe and that palter, Praise be with thee yet from a hag-ridden age.
Our Lady of Pity thou wast: and to thee All England, whose sons are the sons of the sea, Gives thanks, and will hear not if history snarls When the name of the friend of her sailors is spoken: And thy lover she cannot but love—by the token That thy name was the last on the lips of King Charles.
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/List of Works

WORKS BY ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE.
Selections from Swinburne's Poetical Works. Second Edition. Fcp. 8vo. 6s. Atalanta in Calydon Crown 8vo. 6s. Chastelard: A Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 7s.
Poems and Ballads. First Series. Fcp. 8vo. 9s. Also in crown 8vo. at same price. Poems and Ballads. Second Series. Fcp. 8vo. 9s. Also in crown 8vo. at same price. Poems and Ballads. Third Series. Crown 8vo. 9s. Notes on Poems and Reviews. 8vo. 1s. Songs Before Sunrise. Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d.
Bothwell: a Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 12s. 6d.
Songs of Two Nations. Crown 8vo. 6s.
George Chapman: An Essay. (Included in Vol. II. of George Chapman's Works.) Crown 8vo. 6s. Essays and Studies. Crown 8vo. 12s. Erechtheus: A Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 6s. Songs of the Spring-Tides. Crown 8vo. 6s. Studies in Song. Crown 8vo. 7s. Mary Stuart: A Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 8s. Tristram of Lyonesse, and other Poems. Crown 8vo. 9s. A Century of Roundels. Small 4to. 8s.
A Midsummer Holiday, and other Poems. Crown 8vo. 7s. Marino Faliero: A Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 6s. A Study of Victor Hugo. Crown 8vo. 6s. Miscellanies: Crown 8vo. 6s. Locrine: A Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 6s.
London: CHATTO & WINDUS, Piccadilly.
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/Neap-tide

NEAP-TIDE.
Far off is the sea, and the land is afar: The low banks reach at the sky, Seen hence, and are heavenward high; Though light for the leap of a boy they are, And the far sea late was nigh.
The fair wild fields and the circling downs, The bright sweet marshes and meads All glorious with flowerlike weeds, The great grey churches, the sea-washed towns, Recede as a dream recedes.
The world draws back, and the world's light wanes, As a dream dies down and is dead; And the clouds and the gleams overhead
Change, and change; and the sea remains, A shadow of dreamlike dread.
Wild, and woful, and pale, and grey, A shadow of sleepless fear, A corpse with the night for bier, The fairest thing that beholds the day Lies haggard and hopeless here.
And the wind's wings, broken and spent, subside; And the dumb waste world is hoar, And strange as the sea the shore; And shadows of shapeless dreams abide Where life may abide no more.
A sail to seaward, a sound from shoreward, And the spell were broken that seems To reign in a world of dreams Where vainly the dreamer's feet make forward And vainly the low sky gleams.
The sea-forsaken forlorn deep-wrinkled Salt slanting stretches of sand That slope to the seaward hand, Were they fain of the ripples that flashed and twinkled And laughed as they struck the strand?
As bells on the reins of the fairies ring The ripples that kissed them rang, The light from the sundawn sprang, And the sweetest of songs that the world may sing Was theirs when the full sea sang.
Now no light is in heaven; and now Not a note of the sea-wind's tune Rings hither: the bleak sky's boon Grants hardly sight of a grey sun's brow— A sun more sad than the moon.
More sad than a moon that clouds beleaguer And storm is a scourge to smite, The sick sun's shadowlike light Grows faint as the clouds and the waves wax eager, And withers away from sight.
The day's heart cowers, and the night's heart quickens: Full fain would the day be dead And the stark night reign in his stead: The sea falls dumb as the sea-fog thickens And the sunset dies for dread.
Outside of the range of time, whose breath Is keen as the manslayer's knife And his peace but a truce for strife, Who knows if haply the shadow of death May be not the light of life?
For the storm and the rain and the darkness borrow But an hour from the suns to be, But a strange swift passage, that we May rejoice, who have mourned not to-day, to-morrow, In the sun and the wind and the sea.
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/Olive

OLIVE.
i.
Eyes where midnight shames the sun, Hair of night and sunshine spun, Woven of dawn's or twilight's loom, Radiant darkness, lustrous gloom, Godlike childhood's flowerlike bloom, None may praise aright, nor sing Half the grace wherewith like spring Love arrays her.
ii.
Sings in silence, speaks in light Shed from each fair feature, bright
Still from heaven, whence toward us, now Nine years since, she deigned to bow Down the brightness of her brow, Deigned to pass through mortal birth: Reverence calls her, here on earth, Nine years old.
iii.
Even when love transfigured grows Worship, all too surely knows How, though love may cast out fear, Yet the debt divine and dear Due to childhood's godhead here May by love of man be paid Never; never song be made Worth its beauty.
iv.
Sung or said or dreamed or thought Ever, set beside it; nought All the love that man may give— Love whose prayer should be, 'Forgive!' Heaven, we see, on earth may live; Earth can thank not heaven, we know, Save with songs that ebb and flow, Rise and fall.
v.
No man dead, save haply one Now gone homeward past the sun, Ever found such grace as might Tune his tongue to praise aright Children, flowers of love and light,
Whom our praise dispraises: we Sing, in sooth, but not as he Sang thanksgiving.
vi.
Seeing her new-born beauty, made Out of heaven's own light and shade, Smiled not half so sweetly: love, Seeing the sun, afar above, Warm the nest that rears the dove, Sees, more bright than moon or sun, All the heaven of heavens in one Little child.
vii.
Wings of angels when they stir Make no music worthy her:
Sweeter sound her shy soft words Here than songs of God's own birds Whom the fire of rapture girds Round with light from love's face lit; Hands of angels find no fit Gifts to bring her.
viii.
Wear as raiment round them cast, Keep as witness toward their past, Tokens left of heaven; and each, Ere its lips learn mortal speech, Ere sweet heaven pass on pass reach, Bears in undiverted eyes Proof of unforgotten skies Here on earth.
ix.
Quenched with flakes of rain or snow Till the last faint flame burns low, All those lustrous memories lie Dead with babyhood gone by: Yet in her they dare not die: Others, fair as heaven is, yet, Now they share not heaven, forget: She remembers.
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/On the Death of Sir Henry Taylor

ON THE DEATH OF SIR HENRY TAYLOR.
Fourscore and five times has the gradual year Risen and fulfilled its days of youth and eld Since first the child's eyes opening first beheld Light, who now leaves behind to help us here Light shed from song as starlight from a sphere Serene as summer; song whose charm compelled The sovereign soul made flesh in Artevelde To stand august before us and austere, Half sad with mortal knowledge, all sublime With trust that takes no taint from change or time, Trust in man's might of manhood. Strong and sage, Clothed round with reverence of remembering hearts, He, twin-born with our nigh departing age, Into the light of peace and fame departs.
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/Night

NIGHT.
FROM THE ITALIAN OF GIOVANNI STROZZI.
Night, whom in shape so sweet thou here may'st see Sleeping, was by an Angel sculptured thus In marble, and since she sleeps hath life like us: Thou doubt'st? Awake her: she will speak to thee.
ii. FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI.
Sleep likes me well, and better yet to know I am but stone. While shame and grief must be, Good hap is mine, to feel not, nor to see: Take heed, then, lest thou wake me: ah, speak low.
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/New Year's Day

NEW YEAR'S DAY.
New Year, be good to England. Bid her name Shine sunlike as of old on all the sea: Make strong her soul: set all her spirit free: Bind fast her homeborn foes with links of shame More strong than iron and more keen than flame: Seal up their lips for shame's sake: so shall she Who was the light that lightened freedom be, For all false tongues, in all men's eyes the same.
O last-born child of Time, earth's eldest lord, God undiscrowned of godhead, who for man Begets all good and evil things that live, Do thou, his new-begotten son, implored Of hearts that hope and fear not, make thy span Bright with such light as history bids thee give.
Jan. 1, 1889.
# Poems (Eliza Gabriella Lewis)/The Outlaw

THE OUTLAW;
A DRAMATIC SKETCH.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Duke Malvino, (Father of Lady Isabella).
Baron Alberto Rivoli.
Baroness Isabella.
Helvitio, The Outlaw, (Lady Isalella's brother).
Lord Oscar, (Friend of the Baron).
| Amelia, | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ Attendants of Lady Isabella. |
| Page, | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ Attendants of Lady Isabella. |
Jailor, Soldiers, Citizens, &c.
MOUNTAINEERS.
Madeline, (A mountain girl).
Old Woman.
Girls.
THE OUTLAW.
ACT. I.
SCENE I.—Dungeon.
Helvitio chained.
Enter Jailor.
# Poems of Sidney Lanier/Street Cries/Tyranny

This is the fourth poem of Lanier’s collection Street Cries. Lanier composed this poem in Prattville, Alabama, in 1868.
IV. TYRANNY.
# Poems of Sidney Lanier/Street Cries/To Richard Wagner

This is the sixth poem of Lanier’s collection Street Cries. Lanier composed this poem in 1877.
VI. TO RICHARD WAGNER.
# Poems of Sidney Lanier/The Harlequin of Dreams

Sidney Lanier composed this poem in Baltimore, Maryland in 1878.
Swift, through some trap mine eyes have never found,  Dim-panelled in the painted scene of Sleep,  Thou, giant Harlequin of Dreams, dost leap Upon my spirit’s stage. Then Sight and Sound, Then Space and Time, then Language, Mete and Bound,  And all familiar Forms that firmly keep  Man’s reason in the road, change faces, peep Betwixt the legs and mock the daily round. Yet thou canst more than mock: sometimes my tears  At midnight break through bounden lids—a sign  Thou hast a heart: and oft thy little leaven Of dream-taught wisdom works me bettered years.  In one night witch, saint, trickster, fool divine,  I think thou’rt Jester at the Court of Heaven!
# Poems of Sidney Lanier/The Song of the Chattahoochee

This poem is one of Sidney Lanier’s most famous works. It is a poem meant to be set to music, about the Chattahoochee River in the U.S. state of Georgia.
Out of the hills of Habersham,  Down the valleys of Hall, I hurry amain to reach the plain, Run the rapid and leap the fall, Split at the rock and together again, Accept my bed, or narrow or wide, And flee from folly on every side With a lover’s pain to attain the plain  Far from the hills of Habersham,  Far from the valleys of Hall.
 All down the hills of Habersham,  All through the valleys of Hall, The rushes cried Abide, abide, The wilful waterweeds held me thrall, The laving laurel turned my tide, The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay, The dewberry dipped for to work delay, And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide,  Here in the hills of Habersham,  Here in the valleys of Hall.
 High o’er the hills of Habersham,  Veiling the valleys of Hall, The hickory told me manifold Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall Wrought me her shadowy self to hold, The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, Overleaning with flickering meaning and sign, Said, Pass not, so cold, these manifold  Deep shades of the hills of Habersham,  These glades in the valleys of Hall.
 And oft in the hills of Habersham,  And oft in the valleys of Hall, The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl, And many a luminous jewel lone —Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist, Ruby, garnet, and amethyst— Made lures with the lights of streaming stone  In the clefts of the hills of Habersham,  In the beds of the valleys of Hall.
 But oh, not the hills of Habersham,  And oh, not the valleys of Hall Avail: I am fain for to water the plain. Downward the voices of Duty call— Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main, The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn, And a myriad flowers mortally yearn, And the lordly main from beyond the plain  Calls o’er the hills of Habersham,  Calls through the valleys of Hall.
# Poems of Sidney Lanier/Street Cries/Remonstrance

This is the first poem of Lanier’s collection Street Cries. Lanier composed this poem in Baltimore, Maryland 1878–79.
REMONSTRANCE.
# Poems of Sidney Lanier/Street Cries/The Ship of Earth

This is the second poem of Lanier’s collection Street Cries. Lanier composed this poem in Prattville, Alabama in 1868.
II. THE SHIP OF EARTH.
# Poems of Sidney Lanier/Tampa Robins

“Tampa Robins” was composed by Sidney Lanier in 1877 during his time in Tampa, Florida.
The robin laughed in the orange-tree: “Ho, windy North, a fig for thee: While breasts are red and wings are bold And green trees wave us globes of gold,  Time’s scythe shall reap but bliss for me  —Sunlight, song, and the orange-tree.
Burn, golden globes in leafy sky, My orange-planets: crimson I Will shine and shoot among the spheres (Blithe meteor that no mortal fears)  And thrid the heavenly orange-tree  With orbits bright of minstrelsy.
If that I hate wild winter’s spite— The gibbet trees, the world in white, The sky but gray wind over a grave— Why should I ache, the season’s slave?  I’ll sing from the top of the orange-tree  ‘Gramercy, winter’s tyranny.’
I’ll south with the sun, and keep my clime; My wing is king of the summer-time; My breast to the sun his torch shall hold; And I’ll call down through the green and gold  ‘Time, take thy scythe, reap bliss for me,  Bestir thee under the orange-tree.’”