OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Leaves of Grass (1860)/Unnamed Lands

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UNNAMED LANDS.
1.Nations ten thousand years before These States, and
many times ten thousand years before These
States,
Garnered clusters of ages, that men and women like
us grew up and travelled their course, and
passed on;
What vast-built cities—What orderly republics— What pastoral tribes and nomads,
What histories, rulers, heroes, perhaps transcending
all others, What laws, customs, wealth, arts, traditions,
What sort of marriage—What costumes—What
physiology and phrenology, What of liberty and slavery among them—What
they thought of death and the Soul,
Who were witty and wise—Who beautiful and poetic
—Who brutish and undeveloped. Not a mark, not a record remains—And yet all
remains.
2.O I know that those men and women were not for
nothing, any more than we are for nothing,
I know that they belong to the scheme of the world
every bit as much as we now belong to it, and as
all will henceforth belong to it.
3.Afar they stand—yet near to me they stand,
Some with oval countenances, learned and calm,
Some naked and savage—Some like huge collections
of insects,
Some in tents—herdsmen, patriarchs, tribes, horsemen,
Some prowling through woods—Some living peaceably
on farms, laboring, reaping, filling barns, Some traversing paved avenues, amid temples, palaces,
factories, libraries, shows, courts, theatres,
wonderful monuments.
4.Are those billions of men really gone?
Are those women of the old experience of the earth
gone?
Do their lives, cities, arts, rest only with us?
Did they achieve nothing for good, for themselves?
5.I believe of all those billions of men and women that
filled the unnamed lands, every one exists this hour,
here or elsewhere, invisible to us, in exact
proportion to what he or she grew from in life,
and out of what he or she did, felt, became, loved,
sinned, in life.
6.I believe that was not the end of those nations, or any
person of them, any more than this shall be the
end of my nation, or of me;
Of their languages, phrenology, government, coins, medals, marriage, literature, products, games, jurisprudence,
wars, manners, amativeness, crimes,
prisons, slaves, heroes, poets, I suspect their
results curiously await in the yet unseen world—
counterparts of what accrued to them in the seen
world,
I suspect I shall meet them there,
I suspect I shall there find each old particular of those unnamed lands.
# Leaves of Grass (1860)/Walt Whitman's Caution

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Walt Whitman's Caution.
To The States, or any one of them, or any city of
The States, Resist much, obey little,
Once unquestioning obedience, once fully enslaved, Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city, of this earth, ever afterward resumes its liberty.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/A Paumanok Picture

A PAUMANOK PICTURE.
Two boats with nets lying off the sea-beach, quite still, Ten fishermen waiting—they discover a thick school of mossbonkers—they drop the join'd seine-ends in the water, The boats separate and row off, each on its rounding course to the beach, enclosing the mossbonkers, The net is drawn in by a windlass by those who stop ashore, Some of the fishermen lounge in their boats, others stand ankle-deep in the water, pois'd on strong legs, The boats partly drawn up, the water slapping against them, Strew'd on the sand in heaps and windrows, well out from the water, the green-back'd spotted mossbonkers.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1830

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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Landon in The Literary Gazette 1830
Poems in The London Literary Gazette during the year 1830 by Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.)
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
* Contents
| 8th May 1830 | The Absent | 1 |
| 8th May 1830 | The Companions | 2 |
| 8th May 1830 | Memory | 3 |
| 8th May 1830 | The Departed | 4 |
| 8th May 1830 | The Portrait | 5 |
| 29th May 1830 | The Festival | 6 |
| 21st August 1830 | Follow Me! | 10 |
| 21st August 1830 | The Legacy of the Roses | 11 |
| 21st August 1830 | The Aspen Tree | 12 |
| 28th August 1830 | The Sicilian Girl to the Madonna | 14 |
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1829/The First Grave

​21
Literary Gazette, 29th August, 1829, Page 571
ORIGINAL POETRY.
THE FIRST GRAVE.
[We are indebted for the following pathetic little poem to the circumstance of the first grave being formed in the churchyard of the new church at Brompton: the place was recently a garden, and some of the flowers yet show themselves among the graves, where this one tenant, the forerunner of its population, has taken up his last abode.]
A Single grave!—the only one  In this unbroken ground,
Where yet the garden leaf and flower
 Are lingering around.
A single grave!—my heart has felt
 How utterly alone
In crowded halls, where breathed for me
 Not one familiar tone;
The shade where forest-trees shut out
 All but the distant sky;—
I've felt the loneliness of night
 When the dark winds past by;
My pulse has quickened with its awe,
 My lip has gasped for breath;
But what were they to such as this—
 The solitude of death!
A single grave!—we half forget
 How sunder human ties,
When round the silent place of rest
 A gathered kindred lies.
We stand beneath the haunted yew,
 And watch each quiet tomb;
And in the ancient churchyard feel
 Solemnity, not gloom:
The place is purified with hope,
 The hope that is of prayer;
And human love, and heavenward thought,
 And pious faith, are there.
The wild flowers spring amid the grass;
 And many a stone appears,
Carved by affection's memory,
 Wet with affection's tears.
The golden chord which binds us all
 Is loosed, not rent in twain;
And love, and hope, and fear unite
 To bring the past again.
But this grave is so desolate,
 With no remembering stone,
No fellow-graves for sympathy—
 ’Tis utterly alone.
I do not know who sleeps beneath,
 His history or name—
Whether if, lonely in his life,
 He is in death the same:
Whether he died unloved, unmourned,
 The last leaf on the bough;
Or if some desolated hearth
 Is weeping for him now.
Perhaps this is too fanciful:—
 Though single be his sod,
Yet not the less it has around
 The presence of his God.
It may be weakness of the heart,
 But yet its kindliest, best:
Better if in our selfish world
 It could be less represt.
Those gentler charities which draw
 Man closer with his kind—
Those sweet humanities which make
 The music which they find.
How many a bitter word 'twould hush—
 How many a pang 'twould save,
If life more precious held those ties
 Which sanctify the grave!
L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1829/A Sketch

​14
Literary Gazette, 28th March, 1829, Page 212
ORIGINAL POETRY.
A SKETCH.
"They're passing now adown our vale;
 Come, leave the old beech-tree,
And let that humming wheel be staid;
 Come here and gaze with me.
Hark, hark, the gallant trumpet's note,
 The war-drum rolls around;
The crimson banners seem to float
 More proudly at the sound.
Those noble steeds, how each proud neck
 Bends to its rider's hand,
Although the steel-wrought rein is held
 As 't were a silken band!
How bold they ride!—as Victory sat
 Beside each snow-white crest;
Battle is in each eager eye,
 And I can dream the rest.
Each lance is gleaming in the sun,
 War meteors, how they shine!
How glorious is the soldier's lot!
 I would such lot were mine!"
She raised a sudden tearful glance
 Upon his glowing brow:
Why should her cheek be so snow-pale,
 For his is crimson now?
And her sweet face is wont to be
 The shadow of his own,
Where every passing change of his
 Is in a mirror shewn.
"Such, O my Ulric, would'st thou be
 One of yon warrior band?
Why there is death in every heart,
 And blood on every hand.
Bethink thee of how many tears
 Must wash the stains away,
That dim bright armour and proud brow,
 Before the close of day.
I think upon the lonely hearth,
 The desolated home,
The fond hearts listening for the step
 That never more will come.
I think on the linked love of years,
 One moment hath undone;
I gaze on yonder happy child,
 And weep the orphan one."
He met her sad eyes' sweet reproach,
 He caught each gentle word;
The trumpet woke the winds again,
 But it passed by unheard.
L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1829/Change 2

​16
Literary Gazette, 9th May, 1829, Pages 308-309
ORIGINAL POETRY.
CHANGE.
We say that people and that things are changed;
 Alas! it is ourselves that change: the heart
 Makes all around the mirror of itself.
Where are the flowers, the beautiful flowers,
 That haunted your homes and your hearts in the spring?
Where is the sunshine of earlier hours?
 Where is the music the birds used to bring?
Where are the flowers?—why, thousands are springing,  And many fair strangers are sweet on the air;
And the birds to the sunshine their welcome are singing—
 Look round on our valley, and then question "Where?"
Alas, my heart's darkness! I own it is summer,
 Though little 'tis like what it once used to be: I have no welcome to give the new-comer;
 Strangely the summer seems altered to me. 'Tis my spirits are wasted—my hopes that are weary;
 These made the gladness and beauty of yore:
To the worn and the withered even sunshine is dreary,
 And the year has its spring, though our own is no more. L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1829/Contents

* Contents
| 3rd January 1829 | The Churchyard | 1 |
| 3rd January 1829 | Change | 3 |
| 31st January 1829 | Lines to the Author after reading The Sorrows of Rosalie | 5 |
| 14th February 1829 | Lines on Newton's Picture of The Disconsolate | 9 |
| 28th March 1829 | A Sketch | 14 |
| 9th May 1829 | Change | 16 |
| 30th June 1829 | Fame: An Apologue | 17 |
| 29th August 1829 | The First Grave | 21 |
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1829/Change

​3
Literary Gazette, 3rd January, 1829, Page 12
CHANGE.
I would not care, at least so much, sweet Spring,
For the departing colour of thy flowers—
The green leaves early falling from thy boughs—
Thy birds so soon forgetful of their songs—
Thy skies, whose sunshine ends in heavy showers;—
But thou dost leave thy memory, like a ghost,
To haunt the ruined heart, which still recurs
To former beauty; and the desolate
Is doubly sorrowful when it recalls
It was not always desolate.
When those eyes have forgotten the smile they wear now,
When care shall have shadowed that beautiful brow— When thy hopes and thy roses together lie dead,
And thy heart turns back pining to days that are fled—
Then wilt thou remember what now seems to pass
Like the moonlight on water, the breath-stain on glass:
Oh! maiden, the lovely and youthful, to thee,
How rose-touched the page of thy future must be!
By the past, if thou judge it, how little is there
But flowers that flourish, but hopes that are fair;
And what is thy present? a southern sky's spring, With thy feelings and fancies like birds on the wing.
As the rose by the fountain flings down on the wave
Its blushes, forgetting its glass is its grave;
So the heart sheds its colour on life's early hour,
But the heart has its fading as well as the flower.
The charmed light darkens, the rose-leaves are gone,
And life, like the fountain, floats colourless on.
Said I, when thy beauty's sweet vision was fled,
How wouldst thou turn, pining, to days like the dead!
Oh! long ere one shadow shall darken that brow,
Wilt thou weep like a mourner o'er all thou lovest now;
When thy hopes, like spent arrows, fall short of their mark;
Or, like meteors at midnight, make darkness more dark;
When thy feelings lie fettered like waters in frost,
Or, scattered too freely, are wasted and lost:
For aye cometh sorrow, when youth has past by—
What saith the Arabian? Its memory's a sigh.
L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1829/The Churchyard

​1
Literary Gazette, 3rd January, 1829, Pages 11-12
ORIGINAL POETRY.
THE CHURCHYARD.
The shadow of the church falls o'er the ground,
Hallowing its place of rest; and here the dead
Slumber, where all religious impulses,
And sad and holy feelings, angel like,
Make the spot sacred with themselves, and wake
Those sorrowful emotions in the heart
Which purify it, like a temple meet
For an unearthly presence. Life, vain Life,
The bitter and the worthless, wherefore here
Do thy remembrances intrude?
The willow shade is on the ground,
 A green and solitary shade;
And many a wild flower on that mound
 Its pleasant summer home has made.
And every breath that waves a leaf
 Flings down upon the lonely flowers
A moment's sunshine, bright and brief—
 A blessing looked by passing hours.
Those sweet, vague sounds are on the air.
 Half sleep, half song—half false, half true,
As if the wind that brought them there
 Had touched them with its music too.
It is the very place to dream
 Away a twilight's idle rest;
Where Thought floats down a starry stream,
 Without a shadow on its breast.
Where Wealth, the fairy gift, 's our own,
 Without its low and petty cares;
Where Pleasure some new veil has thrown
 To hide the weary face she wears.
Where hopes are high, yet cares come not,
 Those fellow-waves of life's drear sea,
Its froth and depth—where Love is what
 Love only in a dream can be.
I cannot muse beside that mound—
 I cannot dream beneath that shade—
Too solemn is the haunted ground
 Where Death his resting-place has made.
I feel my heart beat but to think
 Each pulse is bearing life away;
I cannot rest upon the grave,
 And not feel kindred to its clay.
**** There is a name upon the stone—
 Alas! and can it be the same—
The young, the lovely, and the loved?—
 It is too soon to bear thy name.
Too soon!—oh no, 'tis best to die
 Ere all of life save breath is fled:
Why live when feelings, friends, and hopes,
 Have long been numbered with the dead?
But thou, thy heart and cheek were bright—
 No check, no soil had either known;
The angel natures of yon sky
 Will only be to thee thine own.
Thou knew'st no rainbow-hopes that weep
 Themselves away to deeper shade;
Nor Love, whose very happiness
 Should make the wakening heart afraid.
The green leaves e'en in spring they fall,
 The tears the stars at midnight weep,
The dewy wild-flowers—such as these
 Are fitting mourners o'er thy sleep.
For human tears are lava-drops,
 That scorch and wither as they flow;
Then let them flow for those who live,
 And not for those who sleep below.
Oh weep for those whose silver chain
 Has long been loosed, and yet live on—
The doomed to drink of life's dark wave,
 Whose golden bowl has long been gone!
Ay, weep for those, the wearied, worn,
 Dragged downward by some earthly tie,
By some vain hope, some earthly love,
 Who loathe to live, yet fear to die.
L. E. L.
# Jersey Journal/1955/Emil A. Schneider

* related portals: Emil August Schneider.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
Emil August Schneider (1886-1955) obituary in The Jersey Journal on January 14, 1955.
Emil A. Schneider. Services will be held at 1 p.m. tomorrow for Emil A. Schneider, 68, a retired real estate broker, of 6 Livingston Avenue, Arlington, who died Wednesday in West Hudson Hospital, Kearny. He was a member of the Jersey Lodge BPOE and the Kearny Chamber of Commerce. Services will be from the John D. Crane and Sons Funeral Home, 241 Kearny Avenue, Kearny.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was legally published within the United States (or the United Nations Headquarters in New York subject to Section 7 of the United States Headquarters Agreement) before 1964, and copyright was not renewed.
* For Class A renewal records (books only) published between 1923 and 1963, check the Stanford University Copyright Renewal Database.
* For other renewal records of publications between 1922–1950, see the University of Pennsylvania copyright records.
* For all records since 1978, search the U.S. Copyright Office records.
Works could have had their copyright renewed between January 1st of the 27th year after publication or registration and December 31st of the 28th year. As this work's copyright was not renewed, it entered the public domain on January 1st of the 29th year.
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.
It is imperative that contributors ascertain that there is no evidence of a copyright renewal before using this license. Failure to do so will result in the deletion of the work as a copyright violation.
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# Jersey Journal/1957/Rev. T. Clark, 48 Years in Ministry

Rev. T. Clark, 48 Years in Ministry. Rev. Thomas J. Clark, 79, who served as pastor of several Hudson County Methodist congregations during 48 years as a minister, died yesterday at Bergen Pines Hospital, Paramus. His wife, Daisy, died August 13. Rev. Mr. Clark, born in Paterson, was a graduate of Wesleyan University and Drew Theological Seminary. Prior to his retirement several years ago, he served as pastor of various congregations in this state and New York, including the Browne Memorial and Summit Avenue Methodist Churches, Jersey City, and the Forty-Sixth Street Methodist Church, Bayonne. His last pastorate, was at the Midland Park Methodist Church. He was a member of the Fall City Masonic Lodge and the Junior Order of United American Mechanics. The Halsey Funeral Home Westwood, is in charge of arrangements.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was legally published within the United States (or the United Nations Headquarters in New York subject to Section 7 of the United States Headquarters Agreement) before 1964, and copyright was not renewed.
* For Class A renewal records (books only) published between 1923 and 1963, check the Stanford University Copyright Renewal Database.
* For other renewal records of publications between 1922–1950, see the University of Pennsylvania copyright records.
* For all records since 1978, search the U.S. Copyright Office records.
Works could have had their copyright renewed between January 1st of the 27th year after publication or registration and December 31st of the 28th year. As this work's copyright was not renewed, it entered the public domain on January 1st of the 29th year.
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.
It is imperative that contributors ascertain that there is no evidence of a copyright renewal before using this license. Failure to do so will result in the deletion of the work as a copyright violation.
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# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1836/Beverley Minster

36
* BEVERLEY MINSTER.
* Artist: Whittock - Engraved by: Fenner
BEVERLEY MINSTER.
Built in far other times, those sculptured walls
Attest the faith which our forefathers felt,
Strong faith, whose visible presence yet remains;
We pray with deeper reverence at a shrine
Hallowed by many prayers. For years, long years,
Years that make centuries—those dimlit aisles,
Where rainbows play, from coloured windows flung, Have echoed to the voice of prayer and praise;
With the last lights of evening flitting round,
Making a rosy atmosphere of hope.
The vesper hymn hath risen, bearing heaven,
But purified the many cares of earth.
How oft has music rocked those ancient towers,
When the deep bells were tolling; as they rung,
The castle and the hamlet, high and low,
Obeyed the summons: earth grew near to God,
The piety of ages is around. Many the heart that has before yon cross
Laid down the burden of its heavy cares,
And felt a joy that is not of this world.
There are both sympathy and warning here;
Methinks as down we kneel by those old graves
The past will pray with us.
Beverley Minster is a remarkable example of Perpendicular Gothic style and is said to be the most impressive church in the UK that is not a cathedral. There has been a religious building on the spot since at least 700 AD, when St John of Beverly founded a monastery. A later church burned down in 1188, and the present building was started in 1220, though it took 200 years to complete.
It is said that the two towers on the West Front inspired Westminster Abbey.
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1836/Borro Boedoor

See Borobudur
52
* BORRO BOEDOOR.
* Artist: W. Purser - Engraved by: S. Bradshaw
BORRO BOEDOOR.
N ancient temple of an ancient faith,
When man, to show the vanity of man,
Was left to his own fantasies. All life
Was conscious of a God;—the sun, the wind,
The mighty ocean, and the distant stars,
Become his prototypes. At length there came
The great appointed hour; the Truth shone forth,
The living waters of the Gospel flowed,
And earth drank life and hope. The work is still
Gradual and incomplete;—it is man’s task,
And more his glorious privilege, to aid.
Our England is a living fountain now,
Whence flow the waves of life,—eternal life.
 Oh, what a power and duty is our own!
’Tis ours to shed upon man’s present day
The blessing of the future and the past.
How much of India yet in darkness lies!
We must dethrone the idol, and dispel
The shadows that but herald the true faith.—
We must give peace, love, charity, to earth; And from old superstitions, vain beliefs, And false religions, realize the true: So morning springs from out the depths of night.
The temple of Borro Boedoor was in former days the most celebrated Budha temple in the Island of Java equally distinguished for its extent and its magnificence.
These remarkable ruins, representing in a high style of Indian architecture a number of small Hindoo sacred buildings with their several idols, so peculiarly combined as to form one place of worship, are engraved from a drawing forming part of the collection brought to England by Sir Alexander Johnstone, to shew the moral and political influence which the religion of Budha had exercised in former days, and still continues to exercise; and the importance of instructing the two High-priests of Budha, (whose portraits are given in this volume,) whom he had brought over with him at the same time, in every branch of European science and literature, in order that they might, upon their return to Ceylon, be made use of as a powerful engine for enlightening those who professed their creed.
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1836/Contents

​3
TABLE OF CONTENTS
| The Hindoo Mother | 4 |
| Immolation of a Hindoo Widow | 7 |
| The Lily of the Valley | 9 |
| Scenes in London.—Piccadilly | 12 |
| Warkworth Hermitage | 14 |
| The Astrologer | 16 |
| The Snowdrop | 18 |
| The Hindoo Girl's Song | 19 |
| Horse-Shoe Falls, Niagara | 20 |
| The Indian Girl | 21 |
| The Rush-Bearing at Ambleside | 25 |
| The Young Destructive | 27 |
| Fishing Boats in the Monsoon | 29 |
| The Montmorency Waterfall and Cone | 32 |
| Scenes in London.—The Savoyard in Grosvenor Square | 34 |
| Beverley Minster | 36 |
| Dunold Mill-Hole | 38 |
| The Fortress of Bowrie, in Rajpootana | 40 |
| The Widow's Mite | 42 |
| Ruins about the Taj Mahal | 44 |
| Scenes in London:—The City Church-Yard | 46 |
| Eskdale, Cumberland | 48 |
| Sir Thomas Hardy | 50 |
| Borro Boedoor | 52 |
| The Phantom | 54 |
| Fountain’s Abbey | 56 |
| Dr. Adam Clarke and the Two Priests of Budha | 58 |
| The Coleraine Salmon Leap | 62 |
| Christmas in the Olden Time, 1650 (Wycoller Hall) | 64 |
| The Queen’s Room, Sizergh Hall, Westmorland | 67 |
| Hindoo Temples and Palace at Madura | 69 |
| The Aisle of Tombs | 72 |
| The Palace Called Beautiful | 75 |
| Valley of Linmouth, North Devon | 77 |
| Pulo Penang | 79 |
| Scenes in London: Oxford Street | 81 |