OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# United States Statutes at Large/Volume 6/14th Congress/1st Session/Chapter 11

Chap. XI.—An Act for the relief of Jonathan White.
Land warrant to be renewed.Be it enacted, &c., That the secretary for the department of war be, and he is hereby authorized and required to renew military land warrant number eight hundred and seventy-five, which heretofore issued to James Gunn, and to issue the same in the name of Jonathan White, to whom it was assigned by said Gunn.
Approved, February 6, 1816.
# United States Statutes at Large/Volume 6/14th Congress/1st Session/Chapter 12

Chap. XII.—An Act for the relief of Charles Markin.
Entry for land may be withdrawn, and payments transferred.Be it enacted, &c., That Charles Markin shall be permitted to withdraw his entry made on the twenty-third day of February, one thousand eight hundred and fifteen, at the land office at Chilicothe, from the north-west quarter of section number nineteen, township number two, of range number sixteen, and the money paid by him on the said entry shall be placed to his credit on any purchase he shall make or may have made of public lands in the same district.
Approved, February 6, 1816.
# United States Statutes at Large/Volume 6/14th Congress/1st Session/Chapter 13

Chap. XIII.—An Act for the relief of Martin Cole, John Pollock, George Westner, and Abraham Welty.
Entries for land may be withdrawn, and payments transferred.Be it enacted, &c., That Martin Cole, John Pollock, George Westner, and Abraham Welty be, and they are hereby authorized to withdraw their respective erroneous entries made in the district of Madison, Canton, Vincennes, and Zanesville, respectively, and the moneys paid by them on the said entries shall be placed to their credit, on any purchase of public land they may have made, or shall make in the same districts.
Approved, February 6, 1816.
# United States Statutes at Large/Volume 6/14th Congress/1st Session/Chapter 15

Chap. XV.—An Act for the relief of William Morrissett.
Penalties remitted.Be it enacted, &c., That the proper accounting officers of the treasury department be, and they are hereby authorized to pay to William Morrissett, the sum of one hundred and five dollars, out of any money in the treasury not otherwise appropriated, being the amount paid by him for penalties incurred, which were afterwards remitted by the Secretary of the Treasury.
Approved, February 15, 1816.
# Thirty Poems/The Poet

Layout 2
THE POET.
# On Interpretation

English-language translations of Περὶ Ἑρμηνείας include:
* "On Interpretation" in The Organon, or Logical Treatises, of Aristotle (1853), translated by Octavius Freire Owen
* "De Interpretatione" in The Works of Aristotle (1928), translated by E. M. Edghill
# Categories

English-language translations of Κατηγορίαι include:
* "Categories" in The Organon, or Logical Treatises, of Aristotle (1853), translated by Octavius Freire Owen
* "Categories" in The Works of Aristotle (1928), translated by E. M. Edghill
# Caroling Dusk/October XXIX, 1795

OCTOBER XXIX,1795
(Keats’ Birthday)
# Caroling Dusk/Del Cascar

DEL CASCAR
# Del Cascar

* "Del Cascar", published in The Book of American Negro Poetry (1922)
* "Del Cascar", published in Caroling Dusk (1927)
# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Del Cascar

DEL CASCAR
Del Cascar, Del Cascar,
Stood upon a flaming star,
Stood, and let his feet hang down
Till in China the toes turned brown.
And he reached his fingers over
The rim of the sea, like sails from Dover,
And caught a Mandarin at prayer,
And tickled his nose in Orion's hair.
The sun went down through crimson bars,
And left his blind face battered with stars—
But the brown toes in China kept
Hot the tears Del Cascar wept.
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# Caroling Dusk/James Edward McCall

JAMES EDWARD McCALL
James Edward McCall was born September 2, 1880 at Montgomery, Ala., and received his early education in the public schools of that city. Graduating from the Alabama State Normal in 1900 he entered Howard University as ​a medical student the same year, but some months later was forced to abandon his medical career, following an attack of typhoid fever leading to total blindness. Un- daunted by this misfortune, he at once set out to develop his literary talent. During this period he read and studied much through the eyes of others, also writing many poems, a number of which were published in Southern dailies, the New York World and other periodicals. The Montgomery (Alabama) Advertiser styled him “The Blind Tom of Literature.” One of his poems, “Meditation,” has been compared to Bryant’s “Thanatopsis.”
Despite his handicap, McCall determined to acquire a college education. Accompanied by his sister, he entered Albion College (Michigan) in 1905, where he was graduated two years later, being the only sightless student in the college. Returning to his natal city, he took up journalistic work, for some years being employed as a special writer for one of the local white dailies, also contributing to other periodicals, and ultimately publishing at Montgomery a successful race weekly—The Emancipator.
This blind writer is ably assisted in his journalistic work by his wife, to whom he was married in 1914. He and his family moved to Detroit in 1920. He is city editor and editorial writer for the Detroit Independent, his editorials in this publication having been widely read and re-published throughout the country during the past two years.
# Caroling Dusk/The New Negro

THE NEW NEGRO
# Caroling Dusk/Angelina Weld Grimké

ANGELINA WELD GRIMKÉ
Angelina Weld Grimké was born in Boston, Mass., February 27, 1880. She was a student at Carleton Academy, Northfield, Minn., Cushing Academy, Ashburnham, Mass., and Girls’ Latin School, Boston. In 1902 she was graduated from the Boston Normal School of Gymnastics. In 1902 she began her career as a teacher in the Armstrong Manual Training School in Washington, D. C.; since 1916 she has taught in the Dunbar High School in the same city. She is the author of a three act play Rachel published in 1920, short stories, and numerous poems.
# Caroling Dusk/Hushed by the Hands of Sleep

HUSHED BY THE HANDS OF SLEEP
(To Dr. George F. Grant)
# Fanny (Poe)

"Tamerlane," at the end of the poem, refers to the title of the chief offering in Poe's first published collection of poetry, Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827).
THE dying swan by northern lakes Sing's [Sings] its wild death song, sweet and clear,
And as the solemn music breaks
O'er hill and glen dissolves in air ;
Thus musical thy soft voice came,
Thus trembled on thy tongue my name.
Like sunburst through the ebon cloud,
Which veils the solemn midnight sky,
Piercing cold evening's sable shroud,
Thus came the first glance of that eye ;
But like the adamantine rock,
My spirit met and braved the shock.
Let memory the boy recall
Who laid his heart upon thy shrine,
When far away his footsteps fall,
Think that he deem'd thy charms divine ;
A victim on love's alter [altar] slain,
By witching eyes which looked disdain.
Tamerlane

## Source

* Written by Edgar Allan Poe
* First Published: Baltimore Saturday Visiter, May 18, 1833
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
# Indian Names

* "Indian Names", in Poems, 1834.
* "Indian Names" in Pocahontas, and Other Poems, 1841.
* "Ye say they all have passed away" in The Riverside song book, 1893.
* "Indian Names" in Pieces People Ask For, 1909.
# The Coral Insect (Sigourney)

* The Coral Insect in Poems, 1827.
* The Coral Insect in Poems, 1834.
* The Coral Insect in Bryant, William Cullen, ed., New York: Fords, Howard and Hulbert, 1880.
# Fanny

This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* "Fanny" by Edgar Allan Poe
* "Fanny" by Fitz-Greene Halleck
# Anna Boleyn (Sigourney)

* Anna Boleyn in Poems, 1827.
* Anna Boleyn in Pocahontas, and Other Poems, London Edition, 1941
# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/"Mene."

"MENE."
Turn ye and look on ancient Babylon,—
The glory of Chaldea's excellence.
—Where is thy golden throne,—thou queen of earth?
Thy heaven-defying walls,—thy molten gates,
Thy towering terraces of trees and flowers,
Thy river-god Euphrates,—thy gay priests,
Effeminate kings,—astrologers with eyes
Seal'd to the stars?—Methinks, even now I trace
What struck thy prince, amid his revels, pale.
The mystic fingers of a sever'd hand
Inscribing Mene on thy mouldering dust.
—Ask ye for Tyre,—for populous Nineveh,
For temple-crown'd Jerusalem,—for Thebes
The hundred-gated,—or for Carthage proud?—
Go!—ask the winnowing winds that waste the chaff
Of human glory.—Ask ye who engraved
Mene upon Pompeii's radiant halls,
When dust and ashes quench'd their revelry?—
The hand that graves it on thy own frail frame,
Thy palaces of pleasure,—domes of pride,—
And bowers of hope.—The pen of judging Heaven
Writes "Mene—Mene—Tekel"—on all joys
Of this deluding world.—That world herself
So blind and blinding,—she shall read her doom
Upon the blacken'd sky,—by the last ray
Of the pale,—fainting sun,—and smit with pangs
Like him of Babylon,—shall tottering fall
To rise no more.—What then shall be their lot,
Who sought no wealth but hers,—nor tasted joy
Save in her smile?
# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/"A man's Life consisteth not in the abundance of the things that he possesseth."

"A MAN'S LIFE CONSISTETH NOT IN THE ABUNDANCE OF THE THINGS THAT HE POSSESSETH."
Think'st thou the steed that restless roves
O'er fields and mountains, vales and groves,
 With wild, unbridled bound.
Finds fresher pasture than the bee
On simple flower, or dewy tree,
Intent to store her industry
 Within her waxen round?—
Think'st thou the fountain made to turn
Through marble vase, or fretted urn
 Affords a sweeter draught
Than that which in its native sphere
Perennial, undisturb'd, and clear
Flows, the lone traveller's thirst to cheer
 And wake his grateful thought?—
Think'st thou the man whose mansions hold
The worldling's pride, and miser's gold
 Obtains a richer prize
Than he, who in his cot at rest
Finds heavenly peace a willing guest,
And bears the earnest in his breast
 Of treasure in the skies?—
# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/"As thy Day, so shall thy Strength be."

"AS THY DAY, SO SHALL THY STRENGTH BE." Deuteronomy, xxxiii. 25.
When adverse winds and waves arise,
And in my heart despondence sighs,
When life her throng of care reveals,
And weakness o'er my spirit steals,
Grateful I hear the kind decree
That "as my day,—my strength shall be."—
When with sad footstep memory roves
Mid smitten joys, and buried loves,
When sleep my tearful pillow flies
And dewy morning drinks my sighs,
Still to thy promise, Lord, I flee,
That "as my day, my strength shall be."
One trial more must yet be past,
One pang,—the keenest, and the last,—
And when with brow convulsed and pale,
My feeble,—quivering heart-strings fail,
Redeemer!—grant my soul to see
That "as her day, her strength shall be."
# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/"Peradventure he sleepeth, and must be awaked."

"PERADVENTURE HE SLEEPETH, AND MUST BE AWAKED." 1 Kings, xviii. 27.
My dull heart slept. Its panoply was off,—
The festal hour had lull'd it, and the dew,
Swept from the flowers of brief Prosperity,
Fell like an opiate on it. The world's star,
Was dominant.—And so it coldly slept
Even in the house of God. The wakeful ear,
That trusty sentinel, essay'd in vain
To arouse its lethargy.—The organ pour'd
Such full, exulting melody, so claim'd
From all the living one pure hymn of praise,
That rapture's flush burn'd on the brighten'd cheek,
But on the secret altar of the heart
No incense glow'd.—Sweet Music sued in vain
At that seal'd portal.—Eloquence sprang forth,
From the blest teacher's lips, and in strong bands
Led chain'd attention,—yet the affections lay
In their dead trance.—But lowly Prayer knelt down,
Breathing her meek voice into Mercy's ear,
Through His dear name who bought the forfeit soul
With his own blood,—Firm Faith's unearthly glance,
And Hope bright-wing'd, and sainted Charity
Sustain'd the thrilling cadence, while it bore
The sinner to his God.—Then woke the heart,
And from its trembling fountain pour'd the tear
Which Penitence required and humbly sought
That sabbath blessing which it else had lost.—
——So Prayer prevail'd, when Music child of Heaven,
And hallow'd Eloquence, like sounding brass,
And tinkling cymbal, smote the dreaming soul
In vain.
# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/"Wherefore I praised the Dead more than the Living."

"WHEREFORE I PRAISED THE DEAD, MORE THAN THE LIVING." King Solomon.
They dread no storm that lowers,
 No perish'd joys bewail,
They pluck no thorn-clad flowers,
 Nor drink of streams that fail,
There is no tear-drop in their eye,
 No change upon their brow,
The placid bosom heaves no sigh,
 Though all earth's idols bow.
Who are so greatly blest?—
 From whom hath sorrow fled?—
Who share such deep, unbroken rest
 While all things toil?——The dead!
The holy dead!—why weep ye so
 Above the sable bier?—
Thrice blessed!—they have done with wo,
 The living claim the tear.
Go to their sleeping bowers,  Deck their low couch of clay
With early spring's uncolour'd flowers,  And when they fade away,
Think of the amaranthine wreath
 The bright bowers never dim,
And tell me why thou fly'st from death
 Or hid'st thy friends from him?—
We dream but they awake,
 Dark visions mar our rest,
Through thorns and snares our way we take,
 And yet we mourn the blest!
For those who throng the eternal Throne
 Lost are the tears we shed,—
They are the living,—they alone
 Whom thus we call the dead.
# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/"There is a time to die."

"THERE IS A TIME TO DIE." King Solomon.
I heard a stranger's hearse move heavily
Along the pavement.—Its deep, gloomy pall
No hand of kindred or of friend upbore.
But from the cloud that veiled his western couch
The lingering sun shed forth one transient ray,
Like sad and tender farewell to some plant
Which he had nourished.—On the giddy crowd
Went dancing in their own enchanted maze,
Drowning the echo of those tardy wheels
Which hoarsely warn'd them of a time to die.
I saw a sable train in sorrow bend
Around a tomb.—There was a stifled sob,
And now and then a pearly tear fell down
Upon the tangled grass.—But then there came
The damp clod harshly on the coffin-lid,
Curdling the life-blood at the mourner's heart,
While audibly it spake to every ear
"There is a time to die."  — And then it seem'd
As if from every mound and sepulchre
In that lone cemetery,—from the sward
Where slept the span long infant,—to the grave
Of him who dandled on his wearied knee
Three generations,—from the turf that veil'd
The wreck of mouldering beauty,—to the bed
Where shrank the loathed beggar,—rose a cry
From all those habitants of silence—"Yea!—
There is a time to die."—
Methought that truth
In every tongue, and dialect, and tone,
Peal'd o'er each region of the rolling globe;—
The Simoon breathed it,—and the Earthquake groan'd
A hollow, deep response,—the Avalanche
Wrote it in terror on a snowy scroll,—
The red Volcano belch'd it forth in flames,—
Old Ocean bore it on his whelming surge,—
And yon, pure, broad, cerulean arch grew dark
With death's eternal darts.—But joyous Man
To whom kind Heaven the ceaseless warning sent
Turn'd to his phantom pleasures, and deferr'd
To some convenient hour, the time to die!
# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/"This year thou shalt die,"

"THIS YEAR, THOU SHALT DIE." Jeremiah xxviii. 16.
Seems life to thee, in future prospect long?—
In fancy dazzling, or fruition sweet?—
And wilt thou listen to a syren's song?—
Though heaven and earth in unison repeat
Life is the flower of grass,—a vision false and fleet.
Oh thou whose heart, even while it dictates, glows
Too much attach'd to this insidious cheat,
How few the measured hours that interpose
Between thy wanderings, and thy last retreat,—
Where Death's unsparing hand unveils each fair deceit.
"This year!"—how slight the barrier that divides
Thee from those loved ones in their graves that lie,
Soon pale and breathless, mouldering at their sides,
Thy fears, thy follies, thy delights shall fly
Fleet as the treacherous cloud that dimm'd the summer sky.
Hast thou no noxious passion to control
Before that hour approaches dark with shade?—
No morbid fear,—no sickness of the soul,—
No erring motive,—nor good deed delay'd, For which thy peace with Him who pardoneth is not made?
"This year to die!"—Why all the years of man
Since forfeit Eden heard his parting sigh,
All generations with their boasted span
Are as a point to His Omniscient Eye
Who knows nor day nor night,—but rules Eternity.
# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/"Ye shall seek me in the Morning, but I shall not be."

"YE SHALL SEEK ME IN THE MORNING, BUT I SHALL NOT BE."
The friend who taught my infant tongue
 Its broken utterance to combine,
Who bending o'er my slumbers sung
 Her cradle-hymn with smile benign,
Who in my childish sports would share
 The gayest laugh, the wildest glee,
And in my hour of youthful care
 Dispel its sadness,—where is she?—
The morning o'er the gilded grove
 Bright on the kindling landscape fell,
I sought her where she oft did rove
 In want and sorrow's lonely cell;—
I sought her in the hallow'd dome
 Where sabbath bells peal'd loud and clear,
I sought her in her peaceful home
 But heard no more her welcome dear.
I sate me in her custom'd seat,  But there her book unopen'd lay,
Her garden breathed its fragrance sweet
 From thousand shrubs and flowrets gay,
Her lillies pale did graceful bend,
 Her green vine clasp'd its favorite tree,
But she who used those sweets to tend,
 And love their beauty,—where was she?—
Sighing, I sought that lonely place,
 Where cypress shades the sleeping dust,
Where grieved affection oft may trace
 The idols of its fondest trust:—
The cold dews bathed a narrow mound,
 The tall, rank grass waved wide and free,
The sweeping gale return'd a sound,
 And seem'd to echo—"where is she?"—
But answering to my wounded breast
 Methought a hovering spirit said,
"Thou who dost break this holy rest
 To seek the living mid the dead,
Thy Guide is risen!"—Deep silence fell!—
 Awe struck my heart unknown before,—
No more shall impious grief rebel,
 This murmuring lip presume no more.—
"Thy Guide is risen!"—'Tis well!—'Tis well!—
 Her heart was in a higher sphere,
For harps of angels seem'd to swell
 Congenial on her earthly ear;—
Her home was not where storms resound,  Where discord waves a blood-stain'd rod, Where sorrow stalks his hourly round,—
 Her home was heaven.—she rose to God.
# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/A Dirge

A DIRGE.
Tomb! take our treasure to thy hoard,—
 The hand that we so oft have prest,
The eye whence holy light hath pour'd,
The glowing lip, the form adored,
 Take to thy breast!—
Cold, cold and thankless as thou art,
 How can we leave the spirit free,
How can we yield that faithful heart,
Which bore in all our joys a part,
 Thus unto thee?—
Said we the spirit?—'T is not thine!—
 No, guard the slumbering dust with care,
Nature with flowers shall deck the shrine,
And be at dewy eve's decline,
 A weeper there.—
Dark steward! lock with jealous fear
 The secrets of thy dreamless bed,
For thou, when ruin whelms the sphere,
The strong archangel's voice must hear,
 "Restore the dead."
# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/A Thunder Storm, while Travelling

A THUNDER STORM, WHILE TRAVELLING.
With what rude drapery Nature robes her form
Here in her sports! how wild! how picturesque!—
How beautiful!—The aspiring rugged cliffs
Rear their brown heads, now bare, and now involved
In clustering foliage. Verdant girdles bind
The hillocks rock-emboss'd,—while here and there, The white cascade, half curtain'd, leaps to join
The expecting streamlet.—Here the silent sage
Might ruminate,—the anchorite obtain
A favourite cell,—or the meek christian view
Him smile, who ever in his works is found
By those who search aright.—
 —O'er the expanse
Of glittering waters glides the snowy sail;—
The lilliputian boat by infants mann'd,
Steers amid fairy islets, circles round
The indented shore,—and in a tiny bay
Makes its safe harbour.—Up in boldness springs
A steep promontory,—the pure, waveless stream
Circles its base, while its indignant brow
Frowns through a helmet of deep forest green,
Nodding in lofty plumes.—But as we gaze
An unexpected gloom pervades the sky
Of summer's beauty.—From the wat'ry glass
Gleam strong reflections of the warrior clouds
Rushing to battle. The black tempest lifts
Its mighty banner.—Prompt with missile shafts,
Red lightning threatens,—awful thunders roar,
And in wild deluge falls the hasty rain.—
Yet, in the kindlings of this fearful wrath
Nature is graceful still.
 —She may not blot
The impress of her Maker,—and the heart
That loves him,—loves the tablet he hath traced
Even on the hostile cloud.—
—Fair, rural scene,
Wilt thou not smile once more?—No, darker throngs
Prolong the fierce encounter in the skies,
And heaven's gate trembles.—But thou soon shalt drink
The sun-beam,—and yon elemental war
Leave not a trace of sorrow.—Is it thus
With man's contentions?—Ask the carnaged field,
The writhing form,—the widow's lonely heart.—
—Methinks this summer scenery, in its garb
Of brief adversity, admonishes
The musing mind.—Meekly it shadows forth
The landscape of our pilgrimage.—Rough blasts
Scatter our foliage, crush our cherish'd flowers,
And hollow thunders wake our bosom'd joys
To sudden flight.—But then through parting clouds
The sun of Mercy beams, leading the eye
Upward, and by a Father's discipline
Instructing the sad heart.
# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/A Vision

A VISION.
Light pour'd upon me like a rushing flood,
And all was glorious.—The brief, trembling ties
That bound me grossly to this mouldering earth
Were fading into air.—Pure, white-wing'd forms
Flock'd round me, and with gentle art essay'd
To lure my upward flight, where harmony
Came softly breathing like some dulcet lute
From domes of pearl.—Methought they marshall'd me
Up to heaven's gate.—But on a poising cloud
Midway I hung.—So much the grosser weight
Of these corporeal elements prevail'd,
I might not rise;—and yet so sweet they sang
"Come hither!"—that by melody enchain'd
I could not backward turn.—My bright abode
Glittering with amber and with crimson, seem'd
Pavilion for some God.—Serene I lay
As on a couch impalpable,—o'erarch'd
With drapery brighter than Aurora's ray,
Which every moment changed.—Anon it sail'd
Deliciously,—as on some waveless sea
Which ask'd nor sail nor oar.—Each star breathed forth
Mysterious melody,—as on it toil'd
To do the Eternal's bidding, and fulfil
Its measured voyage.—There our orb revolved.—
Now stain'd with blood and now with sunbeams gay,
Here heap'd with hecatombs and there with fruits
Of joyous harvest.—To the loftier eye
Of some archangel traveller, whose broad wing
Circles the empyrean, it might seem
A dull, dim speck,—where crawling emmets toil
To treasure dust.—But as I gazed intent,
Black whizzing pinions, with hoarse words swept by,
As if the rude blast shaped itself a voice,
—"What doth this mortal here?"—And then I saw
A mighty seraph with a flaming trump
Descend majestic.—Toward our globe he sped,
As if commission'd to proclaim her hour
Of final dissolution.—My sad heart
Yearn'd o'er its first abode,—and though I fear'd
Her atmosphere would soon be liquid fire,
And all her glories vanish as a scroll,
I fain must leave my Paradise for her.—
—From my pure, odorous couch I madly leap'd.—
I fell interminably.—At the shock
The vision fled,—and I with transport hail'd
The firm, green earth,—and girt myself to toil
A little longer in her wildering race,
Then in her bosom sleep.