OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Woman of the Century/Sara Hershey Eddy

​SARA HERSHEY EDDY. EDDY, Mrs. Sara Hershey, musical educator, born in Lancaster county, Pa She is a daughter of the late Benjamin and Elizabeth Hershey. She received her education and early musical training in Philadelphia, where she sang in a church choir for several years. Bad training resulted in the ruin of her voice, and she turned her attention to the piano. In 1867 she went to Berlin, Germany, where she studied harmony, counterpoint, score-reading and piano-playing with Professor Stern, singing with Miss Jenny Mayer, declamation with Professor Schwartz, elocution and stage deportment with Berndahl, and, afterward, piano with Kullak and singing with Gustav Engel and Gotfried Weiss. She became familiar with the German language and literature, and after three years in Berlin she went to Milan, Italy, where for eighteen months she took vocal lessons with Gerli and the older Lamperti. There she learned the Italian language. She then went to London, England, where she studied oratorio and English singing with Madame Sainton-Dolby. She returned to the United States in October, 1871, and remained eighteen months in New York City, teaching private pupils and singing in concerts and churches She was called to Pittsburgh, Pa., as a teacher in the vocal department of the Female College. In 1873 she was placed in control of that department. In 1875 she went to Chicago and founded the Hershey School of Musical Art with W. S. B. Mathews. Clarence Eddy afterwards became the general musical director of the school, which was very successful. In July, 1879, Miss Hershey and Mr Eddy were married. In 1885 the duties of the school became too exacting, and Mr. and Mrs. Eddy withdrew from it and became the instructors of private classes. Mrs. Eddy has been a prominent member of the Music Teachers' National Association. In 1887 she was elected to the board of examiners in the vocal department of the American College of Musicians. She has contributed a number of valuable articles to musical journals.
# War and Other Essays

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
The first of four collections of essays on economics, liberty, and sociology by Sumner, edited by Albert Galloway Keller. Chapters XI and XII are reprints of two chapters from What Social Classes Owe to Each Other (1883). Page scans are available.
WAR AND OTHER ESSAYS
BY
William Graham Sumner
EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION BY
Albert Galloway Keller
NEW HAVEN; YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS MDCCCCXIX
copyright, 1911,
by yale university press
FIRST PRINTED, OCTOBER, 1911 SECOND PRINTING, FEBRUARY, 1913 THIRD PRINTING, DECEMBER, 1914 FOURTH PRINTING, APRIL, 1919.
Copyright, 1885, by Henry Holt & Company. Copyright 1883, 1887, by Harper & Brothers. Copyright, 1883, 1894, 1896, 1898, by The Forum. Copyright, 1898, by D. Appleton & Company. Copyright, 1883, by The Yale Law Journal. Copyright, 1901, by The International Monthly. Copyright, 1883, by The Yale Review.
PREFATORY NOTE
All rights on the essays in this work are reserved by the holders of the copyright. The publishers named in the subjoined list are the proprietors, either in their own right, or as agents for the author of the Essays of which the titles are given below, and of which the ownership is thus specifically noted. The Yale University Press makes grateful acknowledgment to the Publishers whose names appear below for their courteous permission to include in the present work the Essays of which they were the original publishers.
Yale University Press
Messrs. Henry Holt & Company. "Sociology" and "Our Colleges before the Country." (From the Collected Essays in Political and Social Science.) Messrs. Harper & Brothers. "State Interference," "On the Case of a Certain Man Who is Never Thought of," "The Case of the Forgotten Man Further Considered" (From "What the Social Classes Owe to Each Other"). The Forum. "Do We Want Industrial Peace?" "The Absurd Effort to Make the World Over," "The Fallacy of Territorial Extension," "The Status of Women in Chaldes, Egypt, India, etc." "Witchcraft." D. Appleton & Company. "The Proposed Dual Organization of Mankind," Yale Law Journal. "The Conquest of the Unites States by Spain." The International Monthly. "The Predominant Issue," The Yale Review. "mores of the Present and Future." The American Journal of Sociology. "The Family and Social change," "Religion and the Mores."
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
# Worcester v. Georgia

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
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Worcester v. Georgia, 31 U.S. (6 Pet.) 515 (1832), was a case in which the United States Supreme Court held that Cherokee Native Americans were entitled to federal protection from the actions of state governments which would infringe on the tribe's sovereignty. Warning: template has been deprecated.

## Concurring Opinion

    McLean
United States Supreme Court
31 U.S. 515
Worcester v. Georgia

## 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
# Worcester women clearing the field of fire outside Worcester after the siege of 1643

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* sister projects: Wikipedia article.
Report on Worcester women cleared the field of fire outside the city walls after the Siege of Worcester (1643).
source: Willis-Bund, John William (1905), The Civil War In Worcestershire, 1642-1646: And the Scotch Invasion Of 1651, Birmingham: The Midland Educational Company, p. 96–97, <https://archive.org/details/civilwarinworce00bundgoog>. citing Townsend MSS., cited by Nash, Supplement, p. 37.
the ordinary sort of women, out of every ward of the city, joined in companies, and with spades, shovels, and mattocks did begin to work on Tuesday last, the 30th day of June, who were to the number of 400 on a day, going in a warlike manner like soldiers, and did so behave themselves there in levelling all such fortifications as were left by the Earl of Essex, and throwing down ditches, that by their own industry and free service in imitation of the citizens of London, as they within one week perfected the levelling of the same, which was done the rather by the reason some of them were killed in the siege, though casually; also to ease the soldiers, who, being weary of their late hot service, desired some rest, and to prevent Sir William Waller's approach near if he should return suddenly against them.
# Word and Way

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* sister projects: Commons category, Wikidata item.
Newspaper published in Kansas City, Missouri
Volume 90 (1953)
# Worden v. Searls

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
121 U.S. 14
Worden v. Searls
[ Charles J. Hunt, for appellants.
J. P. Fitch, for appellee.
BLATCHFORD, J.

## 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
# Zinzendorff and Other Poems/The Conquerors of Spain

THE CONQUERORS OF SPAIN.
"There are still found in South America, some of the first conquerors of the New-World, who at the commencement of the sixteenth century, in searching for the rich mines that had been described to them, took a long and circuitous route among the mountains of Peru, and perished by the cold, which at once petrified and preserved them." Bomare.
Why choose ye out such dizzy height
 Amid yon drear domain,
Your ice-bound cell forever white,
 Ye haughty men of Spain?
The Condor on his mighty wing
 Doth scale your cloud-wreath'd walls,
But to his scream their caverns ring,
 As from the cliff he falls.
The poor Peruvian scans with dread
 Your fix'd, and stony eye,
The timid child averts his head,
 And faster hurries by,
They from the fathers of the land
 Have heard your withering tale,
Nor spare to mock the tyrant band
 Transform'd to statues pale.
Ye came to grasp the Indian's gold,
 Ye scorn'd his feathery dart,
But Andes rose, that monarch old,
 And took his children's part,
And with that strange embalming art
 Which ancient Egypt knew,
He threw his frost-chain o'er your heart,
 As to his breast ye grew.
He chain'd you while strong manhood's tide
 Did through your bosoms roll,
Upon your lip the curl of pride,
 And avarice in your soul,
Strange slumber stole with mortal pang
 Across the frozen plain,
And thunder-blasts your sentence rang,
 "Sleep and ne'er wake again."
Uprose the moon, the Queen of night
 Danc'd with the Protean tide,
And years fulfill'd their measur'd flight,
 And ripening ages died,
Slow centuries in oblivion's flood
 Sank like the tossing wave,
But changeless and transfix'd ye stood,
 The dead without a grave.
The infant wrought its flowery span
 On Love's maternal breast,
And whiten'd to a hoary man,
 And laid him down to rest,
Race after race, with weary moan
 Went to their dreamless sleep,
While ye, upon your feet of stone,
 Perpetual penance keep.
How little deem'd ye, when ye hurl'd
 Your challenge o'er the main,
And vow'd to teach a new-born world
 The vassalage of Spain,
Thus till the doom's-day cry of pain
 Shall rive your prison-rock,
To bear upon your brow like Cain,
 A mark that all might mock.
But long from high Castilian bowers
 Look'd forth the inmates fair,
And gave the tardy midnight hours
 To watching and despair,
Oft starting as some light guitar
 Its breath of sweetness shed,
Yet lord and lover linger'd far
 Till life's brief vision fled.
Their vaunted tournament is o'er,
 Their knightly lance in rest,
Ambition's fever burns no more
 Within their conquering breast,
For high between the earth and skies,
 Check'd in their venturous path,
A fearful monument they rise,
 Of Andes vengeful wrath.
# Zinzendorff and Other Poems/The Christian going Home

THE CHRISTIAN GOING HOME.
Occasioned by the words of a dying friend,—"before morning I shall be at home."
Home! Home! its glorious threshhold
Through parted clouds I see,
Those mansions by a Saviour bought,
Where I have long'd to be,
And lo! a bright unnumber'd host
O'erspread the heavenly plain,
Not one is silent—every harp
Doth swell the adoring strain.
Fain would my soul be praising
Amid that sinless throng,
Fain would my voice be raising
Their everlasting song,—
Hark! Hark! they bid me hasten
To leave the fainting clay,
Friends! hear ye not the welcome sound?
"Arise, and come away."
Before the dawn of morning
These lower skies shall light,
I shall have joined their company
Above this realm of night,
Give thanks, my mourning dear ones,
Thanks to the Eternal King,
Who crowns my soul with victory
And plucks from Death his sting.
# Zinzendorff and Other Poems/The Broken Vase

THE BROKEN VASE.
So, here thou art in ruins, brilliant Vase,
Beneath my footsteps. 'Tis a pity, sure,
That aught so beautiful, should find its fate,
From careless fingers.
 Fain would I divine
Thy history. Who shap'd thy graceful form,
And touch'd thy pure, transparent brow with tints
Of varied hue, and gave the enamel'd robe,
Deep-wrought with gold?
 Thou wert a costly gift.
Perchance, a present to some fair young bride,
Who 'mid her wedding-treasures nicely pack'd
Thee in soft cotton that the jarring wheel
O'er the rough road careering, might not mar
Thy symmetry. Within her new abode,
She proudly plac'd thee, rich with breathing flowers,
And as the magic shell from ocean borne
Doth hoard the murmur of its coral-caves,
So thou didst tell her twilight reverie, tales
Of her far home, and seem to breathe the tones
Of her young, sporting sisters.
 'Tis in vain!
No art may join these fragments, or cement
Their countless chasms.
 And yet there's many a wreck
Of costlier things, for which the wealth of Earth
May yield no reparation.
 He, who hangs
His all of happiness on beauty's smile,
And 'mid that dear illusion, treads on thorns,
And feels no wound, or climbs the rocky steep
Unconscious of fatigue, hath oft-times mark'd
A dying dolphin's brightness at his feet,
And found it but the bubble of his hope,
Disparting like the rainbow.
 They who run
Ambition's race, and on their compeers tread
With fever'd eagerness to grasp the goal,
Oft see the envied prize, like waxen toy
Melt in the passion-struggle.
 He, who toils
Till lonely midnight, o'er the waning lamp,
Twining the cobweb of poetic thought,
Or forging links from Learning's molten gold,
Till his brain dazzles, and his eye turns dim,
Then spreads his gatherings with a proud delight
To the cold bosom'd public, oft perceives
Each to his "farm and merchandise," return
Regardless of his wisdom, or perchance
Doth hear the hammer of harsh criticism,
Grinding his ore to powder, finer far
Than the light sand of Congo's yellow stream.
—Yea, 'mid earth's passing pilgrims, many a one
Of its new-gain'd possessions, fondly proud,
Doth like the Patriarch, find his seven years' toil
Paid with a poor deceit.
 Crush'd Vase, farewell.
I thank thee for thy lesson. Thou hast warn'd
That the heart's treasures be not rashly risk'd
In earthen vessels, but in caskets stor'd,
Above the wrecking ministry of Time.
# Zinzendorff and Other Poems/The Christian Mourner

THE CHRISTIAN MOURNER.
I saw a dark procession slowly wind
'Mid funeral shades, and a lone mourner stand
Fast by the yawning of the pit that whelm'd
His bosom s idol.
 Then the sable scene
Faded away, and to his alter'd home
Sad Fancy follow'd him, and saw him fold
His one, lone babe, in agoniz'd embrace,
And kiss the brow of trusting innocence,
That in its blessed ignorance wail'd not
A mother lost. Yet she who would have watch'd
Each germ of intellect, each bud of truth,
Each fair unfolding of the fruit of Heaven
With thrilling joy, was like the marble cold.
—There were the flowers she planted, blooming fair,
As if in mockery,—there the varied stores
That in the beauty of their order charm'd
At once the tasteful, and the studious hour,
Pictures, and tinted shells, and treasur'd tomes,
But the presiding mind, the cheerful voice,
The greeting glance, the spirit-stirring smile,
Are fled forever.
 And he knoweth all!
Hath felt it all, deep in his tortur'd soul,
Till reason and philosophy did faint,
Beneath a grief like his. Whence hath he then
The power to comfort others, and to speak
Thus of the resurrection?
 He hath found
That hope, which is an anchor to the soul,
And with a martyr-courage holds him up
To bear the will of God.
 Say, ye who tempt
The sea of life, by summer-gales impell'd
Have ye this anchor? Sure, a time will come
For storms to try you, and strong blasts to rend
Your painted sails, and shred your gold like chaff
O'er the wild wave; and what a wreck is man
If sorrow find him unsustain'd by God.
# Zinzendorff and Other Poems/The Coming of Christ

THE COMING OF CHRIST.
"For unto you is born this day, a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord."
Behold! the ancient darkness breaks
That o'er the nations lay,
And morn with purple banner wakes,
Bright herald of the day;
Hush'd are hoarse Sinai's thunders dread,
Descending Angels sing,
And crush'd Judea lifts the head,
To hail her promis'd king.
The harp of prophecy, so long
By sacred impulse fir'd,
Hath breath'd its last entrancing song,
And with the seer expired.
Symbol and type, whose linked chain
At Eden's bower began,
No more in dim and shadowy strain
Announce the truth to man.
Messiah comes! what throne of state
Shall win his glorious sway?
Throw wide Oh Earth! thy loftiest gate
To give the highest way:
Yet not to men of royal birth,
Not to the sons of fame,
Not in the sceptred pomp of earth,
The meek Redeemer came.
No.—Turn to Nazareth's noteless bound,
Turn to the lowliest train
Who slowly o'er that thronging ground
Press on with pilgrim pain,
Turn to the manger, scorn'd and lone,
By humblest inmates trod,
And in devotion's deepest tone
Revere the Son of God.
# Zinzendorff and Other Poems/The Bible Class in the Connecticut State Prison

THE BIBLE CLASS IN THE CONNECTICUT STATE PRISON.
I saw them bending o'er that holy page,
Whose breath is immortality. There seemed
No sadness on their features; to their limbs
No fetters clung; and they whose early years
Had told dark tales of wretchedness and shame,
Lifted a calm, clear eye.
 Amazed, I asked,
Is this a prison? and are these the men
Whom Justice from the world's sweet fellowship
Hath sternly severed?
 But a voice replied,
God's spirit hath been here. Serene it came
Into the cells where guilt and punishment
Rivet their chains, making the victim's life
A hated burden, and his hope despair!
 It came! Rebellion laid his weapons down;
The flinty breast grew soft: the rugged brow
Gave channels for the tear of penitence;
And souls, which sin had blotted from their race
As a foul gangrene, to the Healer turned,
Bathed, and were whole.
 So now with humble step
Their penal course they measure, giving still
The day to toil, and meeting every night,
In solitude, reflection's chastening glance,
Which wounds to purify. There, too, doth glide
Fair Charity, prompting to deeds divine
The unaccustomed pupil, while he cons,
'Mid the deep silence of a lonely bed,
His Bible lesson; seeks a deeper root
For Christian purpose, or anticipates
Glad Freedom's sacred gift.
 Ye whom our God
Hath held from deep transgression, be not proud;
Nor, in the heat of passion, haste to weigh
A brother's fault. The eternal Judge himself
(When by the sin of ingrate Adam moved)
Came not to Eden till the cool of day.
And since that hour, when first the vengeful sword
Wav'd o'er the forfeit gate of Paradise,
Man hath been wayward, weak, and prone to fall
Beneath temptation's wile, and so must be
Unto the dooms-day burning.
 Then let his bitterest discipline be mixed
In Mercy's cup, that so the prison cell
May work his soul's salvation; and the "law.
Like school-master" severe, the truant bring
To Christ, his advocate and righteousness.
# Zinzendorff and Other Poems/The Communion

THE COMMUNION.
"Master! it is good to be here."—Mark ix. 5.
They knelt them side by side; the hoary man
Whose memory was an age, and she whose cheek
Gleam'd like that velvet, which the young moss-rose
Puts blushing forth, from its scarce sever'd sheath.
There was the sage,—whose eye of science spans
The comet in his path of fire,—and she
Whose household duty was her sole delight,
And highest study. On the chancel clasp'd,
In meek devotion, were those bounteous hands
That scatter thousands at the call of Christ,
And his, whose labor wins the scanty bread
For his young children. There the man of might
On bended knee, fast by his servant's side,
Sought the same Master,—brethren in the faith,
And fellow-pilgrims.
 See, yon wrinkled brow
Where care and grief for many a year have trac'd
Alternate furrows,—near that ruby lip,
Which but the honey and the dew of love
Have nourish'd. And for each, eternal health
Descendeth here.
 Look! Look! as yon deep veil
Is swept aside, what an o'erwhelming page
Disease hath written with its pen of pain.
Ah, gentle sister, thou art hasting where
No treacherous hectic plants its funeral rose:
Drink thou the wine-cup of thy risen Lord,
And it shall nerve thee for thy toilsome path
Through the dark valley of the shade of death.
—'Tis o'er. A holy silence reigns around.
The organ slumbers. The sweet, solemn voice
Of him who dealt the soul its heavenly food
Turns inward, like a wearied sentinel,
Pillowing on thought profound.
 Then every head
Bows down in parting worship, mute and deep,
The whisper of the soul. And who may tell
In that brief, silent space, how many a hope
Is born that hath a life beyond the tomb.
—So hear us, Father! in our voiceless prayer,
That at thy better banquet, all may meet,
And take the cup of bliss, and thirst no more.
# Zinzendorff and Other Poems/The Dead Horseman

THE DEAD HORSEMAN.
Occasioned by reading the manner of conveying a young man to burial, in the mountainous region about Vettie's Giel, in Norway.
Who's riding o'er the Giel so fast,
'Mid the crags of Utledale?
He heeds nor cold, nor storm, nor blast;
But his cheek is deadly pale.
A fringe of pearl, from his eye-lash long,
Stern Winter's hand hath hung;
And his sinewy arm looks bold and strong,
Though his brow is smooth and young.
O'er his marble forehead, in clusters bright
Is wreathed his golden hair;
His robe is of linen, long and white,
Though a mantle of fur scarce could 'bide the blight
Of this keen and frosty air.
God speed thee now, thou horseman bold!
For the tempest awakes in wrath;
And thy stony eye is fixed and cold
As the glass of thine icy path.
Down, down the precipice wild he breaks,
Where the foaming waters roar;
And his way up the cliff of the mountain takes,
Where man never trod before.
No checking hand to the rein he lends,
On slippery summits sheen;
But ever and aye his head he bends
At the plunge in some dark ravine.
Dost thou bow in prayer, to the God who guides
 Thy course o'er such pavement frail?
Or nod in thy dream o'er the steep, where glides
The curdling brook, with its slippery tides,
 Thou horseman, so young and pale?
Swift, swift o'er the breast of the frozen streams,
 Toward Lyster-Church he hies—
Whose holy spire, 'mid the glaciers gleams,
 Like a star in troubled skies.
Now stay, thou ghostly traveller—stay
 Why haste in such mad career?
Be the guilt of thy bosom as dark as it may,
 'Twere better to purge it here.
On, on! like the winged blast he wends,
 Where moulder the bones of the dead—
Wilt thou stir the sleep of thy buried friends,
 With thy courser's tramping tread?
At a yawning pit, whose narrow brink,
 'Mid the swollen snow was grooved,
He paused. The steed from that chasm did shrink,
 But the rider sate unmoved.
Then down at once, from his lonely seat,
 They lifted that horseman pale,
And laid him low in the drear retreat
And poured in dirge-like measure sweet,
 The mournful funeral wail.
Bold youth! whose bosom with pride had glowed
In a life of toil severe— Did'st thou scorn to pass to thy last abode
In the ease of the slothful bier?
Must thy own good steed, which thy hands had drest,
In the fulness of boyhood's bliss,
By the load of thy lifeless limbs be prest,
On a journey so strange as this!
Yet still to the depths of yon rock-barred dell, Where no ray from heaven hath glowed,
Where the thundering rush of the Markefoss fell,
The trembling child doth point and tell,
How that fearful horseman rode.