OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Mary's Dream (1812)/The Braes o' Gleniffer

The Braes o’ Gleniffer.
Air, Bonny Dundee.
Keen blaws the win’ o’er the braes o’ Gleniffer, The auld castle turrets are cover’d wi’ snaw, ​How chang’d froe the time when I met wi’ my lover, Amang the broom bushes by Stanely green shaw. The wild flow’rs o’ simmer were spread a’ sae bonnie, The mavis sang sweet frae the green birken tree, But far to the camp they hae march’d my dear Johnnie An’ now it is winter wi’ nature an’ me.
Then ilk thing around us was blythsome an’ cheery, Then ilk thing around us was bonny an’ braw; Now naething is heard but the wind, whistling dreary, An’ naething is seen but the wide-spreading snaw: The trees are a’ bare, an’ the birds mute an’ dowie, They shake the cald drift frae their wings as they flee, An’ chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnnie, ’Tis winter wi’ them, an’ ’tis winter wi’ me.
Yon cauld sleety cloud skiffs alang the bleak mountain, An’ shakes the dark firs on the stay rocky brae, ​While down the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded fountain, That murmur’d sae sweet to my laddie an’ me: It’s no its loud roar on the wintry win’ swellin’, It’s no the cauld blast brings the tears i’ my e’e, For, O gin I saw but my bonny Scots callan, The dark days o’ winter war’ simmer to me!
# Mary's Dream (1812)/Mine ain dear Somebody

Mine ain dear Somebody.
When Gloamin’ treads the heels o’ Day, And birds sit courin’ on the spray, Alang the flow’ry hedge I stray To meet mine ain dear somebody.
The scented brier, the fragrant bean, The clover bloom, the dewy green, A’ charm me as I rove, at e’en; To meet mine ain dear somebody.
Let warriors prize the hero’s name, Let mad Ambition tow’r for fame, I’m happier in my lowly hame, Obscurely bliss’d wi’ somebody.
# Mary's Dream (1812)/The Braes of Balquhither

The Braes of Balquhither.
Let us go, lassie, go To the braes of Balquhither, Where the blae-berries grow ’Mang the bonnie Highland heather; Where the deer and the rae, Lightly bounding together, Sport the land summer day On the braes o’ Balquhither.
I will twine thee a bow’r By the clear siller fountain, And I’ll cover it o’er Wi’ the flow’rs o’ the mountain; I’ll range thro’ the wilds, And the steep glens so dreary, And return wi’ their spoils To the bow’r o’ my dearie.
​While the lads o’ the south Toil for bare war’ly treasure, To the lads o’ the north Ev’ry day brings its pleasure; Tho’ simple are the joys The brave Highlander possesses, Yet he feels no annoys, For he fears no distresses:
When the rude wintry win’ Idly raves round his dwelling, And the roar of the linn, On the night breeze is swelling, Then so merrily he’ll sing, As the storm rattles o’er him, To the dear shieling ring, Wi’ the light lilting jorum.
Now the summer is in prime, Wi’ the flow’rs richly blooming, And the wild mountain thyme A’ the moorlands perfuming; To our dear native scenes Let us journey together, Where glad Innocence reigns, ’Mang the braes o’ Balquhither.
# Mary's Dream (1812)/Loudon's bonny Woods and Braes

Loudon’s bonny Woods and Braes.
Loudon’s bonny woods and braes, I maun lea’e them a’, lassie; Wha can thole, when Britain’s faes Would gi’e Britons law, lassie? ​Wha would shun the field of danger? Wha frae Fame would live a stranger? Now when Freedom bids avenge her, Wha would shun her ca’, lassie? Loudon’s bonny woods and braes Hae seen our happy bridal days, And gentle Hope shall soothe thy waes, When I am far awa’, lasssie.
Hark! the sweiling bugle sings? That gi’es joy to thee, laddie; But the dolfu’ bugle brings Waefu’ thoughts to me, laddie; Lanely I may climb the moantain, Lanely stray beside the fountain, Still the weary moments counting, Far frae Love and thee, laddie. O’er the gory fields of war, When Vengeance drives his crimson car, Thou’lt maybe fa’ frae me afar, And nane to close thy e’e, laddie.
O resume thy wonted smile, O suppress thy fear, lassie; Glorious honour crowns the toll, That the soldier shares, lassie: Heav’n will shield thy faithfu’ lover Till the vengeful strife is over, Then we’ll meet, nae mair to sever Till the day we die, lassie: Midst our bonny woods and braes, We’ll spend our peaceful happy days, As blythe’s yon lightsome lamb, that plays On Loudon’s flow’ry lea, lassie.
# Mary's Dream (1812)/The Disguised Squire

The Disguised Squire.
There was a wealthy farmer, liv’d in the north country, And he had a daughter, beautiful and free. There was a squire, who liv’d hard by, Upon this pretty fair maid he did fix an eye.
He hoisted up his budget, and to the farmer’s house he came. It’s have you any pots to mend, or have you any pans, Or have you any lodgings, for me a single man. The farmer granted lodgings, but thinking of no harm, It’s if you abide about this house, you must lie in the barn. Away this fair maid goes, to make the tinker’s bed; The tinker being smart of foot, got up to bar the door, He took her in his arms, and threw her on the floor. They toss’d and tumbled, until the break of day; He says, my pretty fair maid, it’s time I was away. It’s oh! since you’ve got your will of me, pray tell me your name; He whisper’d softly in her ear, they call me Davy Fa’ In remembrance of that merry night, among the pease straw.
I believe you are with child, my dear, as I suppose you be; Here is twenty guineas, to pay the nurse’s fee. When I come ⟨this⟩ road again, I’ll give you as much more, In remembrance of that merry night, of the barring of the door.
FINIS.
J. Neilson, printer.
# Charming young Nancy/My Sailor Dear

MY SAILOR DEAR.
You maidens pretty, in town and city, pray hear with pity my mournful strain; A maid confounded, in sorrow drowned, and deeply wounded with grief & pain.
All for the sake of a lovely Sailor, I am still bewailing in melting tears: Whilst other maidens are fondly playing, I am grieving for my Sailor dear.
Thro’ dales and allies, thro’ shades and vallies, and all around each lovely grove, Roll’d in sweet flowers, in shadow bowers, we spent soft hours in mutual love.
Now he has left me, I do not blame him, because my darling was prest away; It was for my fortune my greedy parents contriv’d to have him sent to sea.
Five thousand pounds left by my uncle, besides four hundred pounds a-year, It is for that reason they do disdain him, as he is below them, my Sailor dear.
May every vengeance be their attendance that caus’d my darling to cross the main; For worldly treasure, and my displeasure, they parted us for the sake of gain.
Could I command all the wealth in India, and the gold and silver far and near, I would soon resign even golden mines, and in marriage join with my Sailor dear.
My hardened parents gave special orders, that I should close confined be, Within my chamber, free from all danger, or left I should my darling fee.
Thirteen long weeks upon bread & water, I liv’d, and had no other cheer! Oh! cruel usage to give a daughter, for loving of a Sailor dear.
Fortune befriend him, always attend him, and still defend him where’er he goes; By land and water may angels guard him, while he’s at war with his Country’s foes.
O that I were a nimble Sailor, no fears nor dangers would I fear, But safely enter, and boldly venture, to range the seas with my Sailor dear.
Since now my dear has crossed the ocean, I grieve alone with a bleeding heart! And fickle fortune, which is uncertain, has caus’d my darling and me to part.
No man shall ever obtain my favour, my heart is loyal in love sincere;
Till death destroy me, none shall enjoy me, except my charming Sailor dear.
# Charming young Nancy/Tom Bowling the Sailor

Tom Bowling the Sailor.
Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, The darling of our crew; Nor no more he'll hear the tempest howling,
For death has brought him to. His form was of the manliest beauty, His heart was kind and soft; Faithful below be did his duty, And now he’s gone aloft.
Tom never from his worth departed, His virtues were so rare: His friends were many, and true-hearted, His Poll was kind and fair; And then he'd sing so blythe and jolly; Ah, many’s the time and oft! But mirth is turn’d to melancholy, For Tom is gone aloft.
Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, When He who all commands, Shall give, to call life’s crew together, To word to pipe all hands, Thus death, who Kings and tars dispatches, In vain Tom’s Life has deff'd ; For, tho’ his body’s under hatches,
F I N I S
# Charming young Nancy/Charming Young Nancy

CHARMING YOUNG NANCY.
Some sings of sweet Molly, some sings of sweet Nelly, And some calls young Susan the cause of their pain; Some love to be jolly, and some melancholy, And some love to sing of the humours of Glen:
But my chiefest fancy is my dearest Nancy, In venting my passion I'll strive to be plain; For ask no more treasure, I'll seek no more pleasure, But thou, my dear Nancy, if ye were my ain.
For her beauty delights me, her kindness invites me! Her matchless behaviour is free from all stain! Her carriage is comely, her language is homely; Her dress is all dainty, take it in the main.
​Therefore, my dear jewel, do not prove so cruel; Consent my dear Nancy, and come be my ain, The whole of her face, is, with blooming grace, Array’d like the gowans that grows in the glen.
For her yellow locks shining, and beauty combining, My charming young Nancy, if ye were my ain! She's well shaped and slender, true hearted and tender: My charming young Nancy if ye were my ain!
For I’ll daut her with kisses; and lovely embraces; I’ll sing her sweet songs with the strength of my brain; Believe me, my deary, I’ll still hold thee cheary, My charming young Nancy
if ye were my ain.
For I’ll search all the nation for a habitation, ​To guard thee, my deary. from cold, snow and rain: Then you shall not sit single, but by a good ingle My charming young Nancy, if ye were my ain!
For I’ll work at my calling, to furnish a dwelling With every thing needful, thy life to sustain: Therefore, my dear jewel, do not prove cruel; Consent, my dear Nancy, and come be my ain.
I will have a garden,
my charming young maiden, For fresh recreation, to fright away pain; To walk in when weary, to comfort my deary. My charming young Nancy if ye were my ain.
I would make true affection the only direction for loving my Nancy, while life doth remain.
​Altho’ youth be wasting, affection is lasting; My charming young Nancy if ye were my ain.
But what if my Nancy should alter her fancy, And favour another, for honour and gain? I would not compel her, but plainly would tell her, Begone you false Nancy, ye's ne’er be my ain.
# The downfall of Paris, and Bonaparte dethron'd

⟨THE⟩ Downfall of Paris, AND Bonaparte Dethron’d.
TO WHICH IS ADDED,
Every Inch a sailor, THE Disconsolate Sailor, AND The Lovely Soldier.
Falkirk, Printed by T ⟨Johnston⟩,
1814.
* The Downfall of Paris, and Bonaparte Dethron'd
* Every Inch a Sailor
* The Disconsolate Sailor
* The Lovely Soldier
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The downfall of Paris, and Bonaparte dethron'd/The Downfall of Paris, and Bonaparte Dethron'd

⟨THE⟩
DOWNFALL OF PARIS,
AND
Bonaparte Dethron’d.
Great News I have to tell you all, of Bonaparte and a' that, How Paris it has got a fall, He lost his plans and a' that; chorus. Rise up John Bu l, rise up and sing Your chanter loudly blaw that; Long live our auld and worthy King, Success to Britons, a' that
When Bonaaarte, the rogue, began to be o King, and a' that He laid his vile and cur'sed plan to rob and plunder a' that. Rise up &c. At Jaffa, first with poison strong, he turn'd to murder, a' that, And thousand sent to sleep in death, A very dreadful law that! Rise up &c. Says Bonaparte, I'll be a King, And rule in France, and a' that; The Devil to my help I’ll bring, my trusty friend, and a’ that, Rise up, &c. ​So off run Boney for the Crown, the Throns and Sceptre, a' that; All other Kings he knock'd them down, and plunder’d them, and a' that. Rise up &c. And thus the rogue goes on and steals, contrary to each law that, Till Wellington's come at his heels, and made him run for a' that. Rise up &c. Says Wellington, You rogue, begone, My men are heroes a' that; I'll make you tumble from your throne, with shells and shot, and a' that. Rise up &c. Says Bonaparte Good day, good day, Lord Wellington and a' that, With you I can no longer stay, Then fare you well and a' that. Rise up & So Bonaparte was chac'd about, Boudeaux it fell, and a' that; His scatter’d army took the rout, o’er hids and mountains, a' that. Rise up &c. Now Paris' fallen fallen low, the pride or France, and a' that; And Boney sinks beneath the blow, dethron'd, disgrac'd, and a' that. Rise up, &c. The tyrant falls, he tumbles down, Huzza! he falls, and a' that, ​No more to wear the Bourbons' Crown, or rule in France, and a' that. Rise up &c. He's lost the game, and lost the race, his honour blasted, a' that; May freedom’s sons soon end the chace, Huzza for Peace, and a' that.
CHORUS. Rise up, John Bull rise up and sing, Your chanter loudly blaw that, Long live our auld and worthy King, Success to Britons, a' that.
# The downfall of Paris, and Bonaparte dethron'd/Every Inch a Sailor

EVERY INCH A SAILOR.
The wind blew hard, the ſea ran high, The dingy feud drove croſs the ſky, All was ſafe flow’d, the bowl was flung, When careleſs thus Ned Haulyard ſung:
A Sailer’s life’s the life for me, He takes his duty merrily; If winds can whiſtle, he can ſing, Still faithful to his friends and King: He gets belov’d by all his ſhip, And toaſts his girl,and drinks his flip.
​Down topſail, boys, the gale comes on, The ſtrike top-gallant yards they run; And now to hand the ſail prepar’d, Ned cheerful ſings upon the yard, A Sailor’s, life, &c.
A leak!—a leak!—come lads, be bold, There’s five feet water in the hold! Eager on deck ſee Haulyard jump, And, hark! while ſinging at the pump, A Sailer’s life, &c.
And ſeeing the veſſel nought can ſave, She ſtrikes, and finds a wat’ry grave: Yet Ned preſerv'd, with a few more, Sings, as he trades a foreign ſhore, A Sailor’s life, &c.
And now unnumber’d perils paſt, On land as well as ſea, at laſt, In tatters to his Poll at home. See honeſt Haulyard ſinging come, A Sailor’s life, &c.
Yet for poor Haulyard, what diſgrace! Poll ſwears ſhe never ſaw his face: He d—d her for a faithleſs ſhe, And ſinging goes again to ſea, A Sailer’s life, &c.
# The downfall of Paris, and Bonaparte dethron'd/The Disconsolate Sailor

THE
DISCONSOLATE SAILOR.
When my money was gone which I gain’d in the wars, And the world ’gan to frown on my fate, What matter'd my zeal, or my honoured ſcars, When in difference ſtood at each gate:
The face that would ſmile, when my purſe was well lin’d, Show’d a different aſpect to me: And when I could naught but ingratitude find, I fled once again to the ſea.
I thought it unwiſe to repine at my lot, or to bear with cold looks on the ſhore, S‘ I pack’d up the trifling remnants I got, and a trifle, alas! was my ſtore.
A handkerchief held all the treaſure I had, which over my ſhoulder I threw; Awa then I trudg'd with a heart rather ſad to join with ſome jolly ſhip’s crew.
​The ſea was leſs troubled by far than my mind, for when the wide main I ſurvey’d, I could not help thinking the world was unkind, and Fortune a ſlippery jade.
And I vow'd if once I could take her in tow, I'd let the ungrateful ones ſee, That the turbulent winds and the billows could ſhow more kindneſs than they did to me.
# The downfall of Paris, and Bonaparte dethron'd/The Lovely Soldier

THE LOVELY SOLDIER.
Abroad as I was walking, down by a ſhady grove, Where I heard a Soldier talking of pretty tales of love:
The tears did trickle down his lovely roſy cheek, Which fill’d my heart with fatal love, altho’ I dare not ſpeak.
​The Soldier call’d her jewel, and ſwore he never would Be unkind and cruel to the girly he dearly lov’d.
The tears did trickle down her lovely roſy cheek; She was ſo fill’d with love, a word ſhe ſcarce could ſpeak.
She ſaid, My dear, much rather I would go along with you, And leave my aged father, and loving mother too: For theſe can be no pleaſure, neither for you or me, But ſorrow without meaſure, when you are gone to ſea.
Farewell, my dearell Nancy, my joy and heart’s delight, For I am going to the Indies, my country’s foes to fight.
F I N I S o ——— o Falkirk, Printed by T. Johnston, 1814
# American Party of Texas v. Bullock
## Dissenting Opinion

    Douglas
Supreme Court of the United States
409 U.S. 803
American Party of Texas et al. v. Bullock, Secretary of State of Texas
On Appeal for Writ of Certiorari from the United States District Court for the Western District of Texas
No. A-325. Argued: N/A --- Decided: October 5, 1972
Application for temporary restraining order, presented to MR. JUSTICE DOUGLAS and by him referred to the Court, denied.
Reported below: 349 F.Supp. 1272.
# Tragedy of Sir James the Rose (1815)/Hearts of Oak

HEARTS OF OAK.
Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we ſteer, To add something new to this wonderful year; To honour we call you, don't press you, like ſtaves, For who are so free as the Sons of the Waves?
Hearts of Oak are our ſhips, Hearts of Oak are our men,; We always are ready, Steady, boys, ſteady: We'll fight, and we'll conquer again and again.
We never meet our foes but we wiſh them to stay;
​They never meet us, but they wiſh us away: If they run, then we follow, and run them a-ſhore, For if they won't fight us, we cannot do more. Hearts of Oak, &'c.
They ſwear they'll invade us, these terrible foes! They frighten our women, our children and beaux: But ſhould their flat bottoms in darkness get o'er, Still Britons they'll find to receive them on ſhore. Hearts of Oak, &C.
We'll ſtill make them run, And we'll ſtill make them ſweat, In spite of the devil, and Bruſſel's Gazette. Then cheer up, my lads, with one voice let us ſing, Our ſoldiers, our ſailors, our Statesmen and King. Hearts of Oak, &c.
# Tragedy of Sir James the Rose (1815)/Fair Susannah

FAIR SUSANNAH.
Ask if yon damaſk roſe be ſweet, that ſcents the ambient air; Then ask each ſhepherd that you meet if dear Suſannah's fair?
Say, will the Vulture quit his prey, and warble thro' the grove? Bid wanton linnets quit the ſpray, then doubt thy ſhepherd's love:
The ſpoils of war let heroes ſhare, let pride in ſplendor ſhine! Ye bards, unenvy'd laurels wear, be ſair Suſannah ſhine.
FINIS.
Falkirk—T. Johnston, Printer.
# Tragedy of Sir James the Rose (1815)/Mary, Queen of Scots' Lament

MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS LAMENT.
I ſigh and lament me in vain, these walls do bet echo my moan; Alas! it increases my pain, when I think on the days that are gone!
Thro' the grate of my prison I see the birds as they wanton in air; My heart, how it pants to be free! my looks they are wild with despair!
Above the oppreſt by my fate, I burn with contempt for my foes; Tho' fortune has alter'd my ſtate, ſhe ne'er can subdue me to those.
False woman, in ages to come, thy malice deteſted ſhall be; And when we are cold in the tomb, some heart ſtill ſhall sorrow for me.
Ye roofs, where cold damps and dismay, with ſilence and solitude dwell, How comfortless passes the day— how sad tolls the evening bell!
​The owls from the battlements cry, hollow winds seem to murmur around. O Mary! prepare thee to die!— my blood it runs cold at the sound!
# Tragedy of Sir James the Rose (1815)/Sir James the Rose

SIR JAMES THE ROSE.
O heard you of Sir James the Roſe, the young heir o'Buleighan? For he has kill'd a gallant 'Squire, Whaſe friends are out to tak him. Now he has gane to the houſe o'Mar, whare nane might ſeik to find him; To ſee his dear he did repair, Weining ſhe would befriend him.
Whar are you gaing Sir James? ſhe ſaid, O whar awa' are ye riding? I maun be bound to a foreign land, and now I'm under hiding. Whar fall I gae, whar fall I rin, whar fall i rin to lay me? For I hae kill'd a gallant 'Squire, and his friends ſeek to ſlay me.
O gae ye down to yon laigh houſe, I fall pay there your lawing: And as I am your leman trew, I'll meet you at the dawing. He turn'd him richt and round about, and row'd him in his brechan;
​And laid him down to tak a ſleep, in the lowlands o'Buleighan.
He was nae well gane out o' ſight, nor was he paſt Milſtrethen, Whan four-and twenty belted Knights came riding owr the Leathen. O hae ye ſeen Sir James the Roſe, the young heir o' Buleighan? For he has kill'd a gallant 'Squire, and we are ſent to tak him.
Yea, I hae ſeen Sir James the Roſe, he paſt by here on Munday; Gin the ſteed be ſwift that he rides on, he's paſt the heights of Lundie. But as wi' ſpeid they rade awa, ſhe loudly cry'd behind them, Gin ye'll gie me a worthy meid, I'll tell ye whar to find him.
O tell, fair maid, and, on our band, ye'ſe get his purſe and brechan. He's in the bank aboon the mi!!, in the lawlands o' Buleighan. Then out and ſpak Sir John the Graham, wha had the charge a-keiping,
​It's ne'er be ſaid, my ſtalwart feres, we kill'd him when a-ſleiping.
They ſeiz'd his broad-ſword and his targe, and closely him surrounded: O pardon̜̙—mercy! gentlemen, he then ſou' loudly sounded. Sic as ye gae, ſic ye sall hae, nae grace we ſhaw to thee can.
Donald, my man, wait till I fa, and ye sall hae my brechan; Ye'll get my purse, tho’ fu' o'gowd, to tak me to Loch-Lagan. Syne they tuke out his bleeding heart, and set it on a spear; Then tuke it to the house o' Mar, and ſhaw'd it to his dear.
We could nae gie Sir James's purse, we can nae gie his brechan, But ye sall hae his bleeding heart, but and his bleeding tartan. Sir James the Rose, O for thy sake my heart is now a-breaking! Curs'd be the day, I wrought thy wae, thou brave heir of Buleighan!
​Then up ſhe raise, and forth ſhe gaesː and, in that hour o' tein, She wandered to the dowie glen, and never mair was seen.
# Banks of the Ban/The Banks of the Ban

THE BANKS OF THE BAN.
On Esebeth harbour, that place call’d Hiltown, "Where the rivers & fountains they did me surround; I spied a fair female as you soon shall understand, Was viewing small fishes on the banks of the Ban.
I stepped up to her, and to her did say, Kind nature has fram’d you all hearts to betray, But if you will go with me, love, here is my hand That we will be married on the banks of the Ban.
It’s I can’t go with you, young man, she did say, For you are a stranger and would me betray, And I a chaste virgin might break the command. Your absence is a cordial on the banks of the Ban.
O at length my persuasions they seem to take place, I knew from the blushes was seen in her face; Her feet they did slide oh the soft beds of sand; She fell into my arms on the banks of the Ban.
But she being come to her senses again, And then being gall’d with a sense of her shame; She cried, you’ve undone me, my dear, out of hand, Come let us be married on the banks of the Ban.
It's I cannot marry you, for I am a prentice bound To a young weaver nigh Rufryland town; But when my trade’s learned, love, here is my hand
That we will be married on the banks of the Ban.
​It’s since you will not marry me, pray tell me your name; Or where is your dwelling or from whence you came: My name’s William Engiam on the Elegenstan, My dwelling is near to the bank of the Ban.
Come all you young maidens wherever you be, That wishes to ponder my sad destiny; When you go a roving by two or by one Take care of the angler who roves on the Ban.