OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Youth's Companion/July 19, 1860/Tale of an Elephant

Tale of an Elephant.
Tell, my grandchildren, said the late Right Rev. Daniel Wilson, writing home from India, that an elephant here had a disease in his eyes. For three days he had been completely blind. His owner, an engineer officer, asked my dear Dr. Webb, if he could do anything to relieve the poor animal. The doctor said he would try nitrate of silver, which was a remedy commonly applied to similar diseases in the human eye. The huge animal was ordered to lie down, and at first, on the application of the remedy, raised a most extraordinary roar at the acute pain which it occasioned. The effect, however, was wonderful. The eye was, in a manner, restored, and the animal could partially see. The next day, when he was brought, and heard the doctor’s voice, he laid down of himself, placed his enormous head on one side, curled up his trunk, drew in his breath just like a man about to endure an operation, gave a sigh of relief when it was over, and then, by trunk and gestures, evidently wished to express his gratitude. What sagacity! What a lesson to us of patience!
# The Youth's Companion/July 19, 1860/The Baby-Carriage

The Baby-Carriage.
The Baby-Carriage.
How different are the customs of savage and civilized life. If we should just peep into the wigwam of an Indian, we should see the mother of the family sitting down on the bare ground. At most, the skin of some wild animal would form the only article of upholstery. No sofa, no chair, no cricket. The baby would be lashed with thongs of deer skin to a piece of plank in the place of a cradle, and if the mother wanted to take it to any distance out of doors, she would sling it to her back.
How different is the case with both mothers and babies in a state of civilization. Just fancy their condition as above described, and then turn your eye to the cut with which we have embellished the present number; is there not a difference? See the group as they sit or stand beneath the vine-arbor. How attractive is everything about them. The two neatly dressed girls, listening to the directions of the lady while she tells them not to expose the face of the baby to the sun, as the domestic did the last time she had it out. The lady herself, so lady-like, and graceful. Above all look at the baby and its carriage; the former slumbering so tranquilly in its airy, charming little cradle, so different from the plank bed of the poor little savage. How comfortable it looks. Then the carriage—what a nice contrivance, and how much better to be wheeled about in this, than to be slung to the back of a jolting squaw. Believe me boys and girls, it is a great thing, after all, to live in a country where civilization exists. Think of it, young friends, and “be ye thankful.”
# The Youth's Companion/July 19, 1860/Order

Scraps for Youth.
Order.
“Sister, help me to find my books, and tell me if you have seen my gloves and my veil. It is so strange that every morning I have to hunt all over the house for my things, and that is the reason I am always late at school, and then Miss Brown scolds me, and I get worried and miss my lesson, and every thing goes wrong all day. Oh dear! what shall I do.”
“Come here, Annie,” said her mother, “here are all your things; but I must speak to you again, and if possible, more earnestly than I have hitherto done, about this baneful habit of disorder you are acquiring. Yesterday afternoon when you came in from school, instead of putting your veil and gloves in their proper places, you took them with you to the dining-room, and left them under the table, where just before tea I picked them up. Your slate and Arithmetic you left in the arbor in the garden, where the last night’s rain would inevitably have destroyed your book and washed out your whole afternoon’s work, had not your brother James gone to the arbor on an errand for me, and being more careful than yourself, brought them in and laid them on the hall table. Your Atlas you carelessly threw on the bed in your own room when you were done studying, and this morning never thought of looking for it till the time arrived for starting to school. Bridget, in making up the bed, found it and brought it to me a good deal crumpled, as you perceive, and one leaf badly torn, for which Miss Brown will most probably reprove you, as well as for being late at school, as you so often are, in consequence of having, as you just now said, to hunt all over the house for your things. Now all this trouble to yourself and others, might be avoided, your own temper spared these frequent outbreaks, and your mother and teacher saved the necessity of giving so many reproofs, if you would only learn to put your things in place when you have done using them, instead of leaving them about as you so often do to be injured or destroyed. The loss of your new doll was occasioned by its being left on the bed, buried up under the clothes; from which it was thrown, as you know, to the floor, when the counterpane was removed, and the costly doll broken to pieces in the fall. Your best hat was destroyed by Fido’s dragging it all over the yard, when you left it on the turf while you were swinging, and afterward forgot to bring it in. Various other similar disasters might be mentioned; to say nothing of the peevishness and ill temper thus engendered. Besides, this habit, unless conquered, will ‘grow with your growth, and strengthen with your strength,’ and bring in its destructive train many other sins and sorrows. Begin, I pray you, from this hour to do differently, and remember always that both time and trouble are eventually saved by having a place for everything, and keeping everything in its place.”
And so Annie found it—her books, veil, and gloves had no more to be sought for from every corner of the house—she reached school in good time, avoided the “scold” and subsequent “worry”—knew her lessons, and every thing went right all day.—Reaper.
# The Youth's Companion/July 19, 1860/Peace at the Cross

Peace at the Cross.
We hope that many of our readers have become Christians in the Sabbath school. If so, they know what it is to feel troubled by a sense of sin, and to obtain joy in hope of forgiveness by Christ. They can appreciate the beauty of Bunyan’s Pilgrim Progress, and the following striking incident in it:
A Christian was traveling on his road with great difficulty, by reason of the burden on his back. But, as he pressed forward, he came to a place where stood a cross, and near it a sepulchre. As he approached, the burden loosened off from his shoulders and fell from his back, and began to tumble, and so continued to do, till it came to the mouth of the sepulchre, where it fell in and was no more to be seen.
It was very surprising to him that the sight of the Cross should thus have eased him of his burden. He looked to it, therefore, again and again, until the plenteous tears began to flow down his cheeks. As he thus stood weeping before the Cross, he was saluted by three shining ones, who each conferred upon him an unspeakable boon. The first assured him that his sins were forgiven. The second stripped him of his rags, and clothed him in a change of raiment. The third set a mark upon his forehead, and gave him a roll with a seal upon it, which he was to peruse as he proceeded, and also to present at the Celestial Gate at the end of his journey. Having bestowed these gifts, they departed. And now was our pilgrim so completely comforted, that he looked like another person. Neither could he express the joyful emotion of his heart; but he gave three leaps for joy, and went on his way walking, and leaping, and praising God.”
# The Youth's Companion/July 19, 1860/Miscellaneous

​It has been established by the courts, that the first stroke of the clock is the record of the hour. The mere labor of the remaining enumeration runs into the succeeding hour. The point was first brought up in Blackstone’s time in a great will case, where two persons had apparently died at the same time.
Have you ever seen a drunken man trying to make believe that he is sober? How ridiculous the spectacle! And yet more ridiculous still, is the attempt of an ignorant ill-bred person to appear very wise and refined in society.
Life is made up, not of great sacrifices and duties, but of little things, in which smiles and kindnesses, and small obligations, given habitually, are what win and preserve the heart, and secure comfort.
Remember what a world of gossip would be prevented if it was only remembered that a person who tells you of the faults of others, intends to tell others of your faults.
That plenty should produce either covetousness or prodigality is a perversion of providence: and yet the generality of men are the worse for their riches.
He who follows his recreation instead of his business, will, in a little time, have no business to follow.
Of all the earthly music, that which reaches the farthest into heaven is the beating of a loving heart.
# To Imagination

"When weary with the long day's care"
* "To Imagination" in Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
* "To Imagination" in The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë (1908)
# To His Mistresses

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "To His Mistresses."
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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.
* "To His Mistresses" (Help me! help me! now I call), a poem by Robert Herrick
* "To His Mistresses" (Put on your silks; and piece by piece), a poem by Robert Herrick

### See also

* To His Mistress
# To Hope

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "To Hope."
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* "To Hope", a poem by Mathilde Blind (Oh come, thou power divine)
* "To Hope", a poem by Felicia Dorothea Browne (Fair enchantress gaily kind)
* "To Hope", a poem by Florence Earle Coates (Giver and Gift!)
* "To Hope", a poem by John Keats (When by my solitary hearth I sit)
# To H—— (Thy Friendship oft has made my heart to ake)

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
From Notebook c.1808-1811 p.37. See also: Satiric verses and epigrams.

#### Edited text:

To H[ayley]
THY friendship oft has made my heart to ache:
Do be my enemy—for friendship’s sake.
________________________________________

#### The original text:

To H
Thy Friendship oft has made my heart to ake Do be my Enemy for Friendships sake
________________________________________

## Notes

* ↑ The Poetical Works of William Blake, including the unpublished French Revolution together with the Minor Prophetic Books and Selections from The Four Zoas, Milton & Jerusalem; edited with an introduction and textual notes by John Sampson, Hon. D.Litt. Oxon., 1862–1931. London, New York: Oxford University Press, 1908.
* ↑ "The Complete Poetry & Prose of William Blake", ed. by David V. Erdman, Anchor Books, 1988, p. 506.
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
# To Hope (Keats)

Written in February 1815. On the verso of the holograph copy Keats wrote this fragment: “They weren fully glad of their gude hap / And tasten all the Pleasausnces of joy.” First published in 1817.
* "To Hope", in The Poetical Works of John Keats (1884)
* "To Hope", in The Complete Poetical Works and Letters of John Keats (1899), edited by Horace Elisha Scudder
# To His Muse

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "To His Muse."
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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.
* To His Muse (Whither, mad maiden, wilt thou roam?) by Robert Herrick
* To His Muse (Were I to give thee baptism, I would choose) by Robert Herrick
* To His Muse (Go woo young Charles no more to look) by Robert Herrick
* To His Muse; Another to the Same (Tell that brave man, fain thou would'st have access) by Robert Herrick
# To Holmes on his Seventy-Fifth Birthday

From Heartsease and Rue
Dear Wendell, why need count the years  Since first your genius made me thrill, If what moved then to smiles or tears,  Or both contending, move me still?
What has the Calendar to do  With poets? What Time's fruitless tooth With gay immortals such as you  Whose years but emphasize your youth?
One air gave both their lease of breath;  The same paths lured our boyish feet; One earth will hold us safe in death  With dust of saints and scholars sweet.
Our legends from one source were drawn,  I scarce distinguish yours from mine, And don't we make the Gentiles yawn  With "You remembers?" o'er our wine!
If I, with too senescent air,  Invade your elder memory's pale, You snub me with a pitying "Where  Were you in the September Gale?"
Both stared entranced at Lafayette,  Saw Jackson dubbed with LL. D. What Cambridge saw not strikes us yet  As scarcely worth one's while to see.
Ten years my senior, when my name  In Harvard's entrance-book was writ, Her halls still echoed with the fame  Of you, her poet and her wit.
'Tis fifty years from then to now:  But your Last Leaf renews its green, Though, for the laurels on your brow  (So thick they crowd), 'tis hardly seen.
The oriole's fledglings fifty times  Have flown from our familiar elms; As many poets with their rhymes  Oblivion's darkling dust o'erwhelms.
The birds are hushed, the poets gone  Where no harsh critic's lash can reach, And still your winged brood sing on  To all who love our English speech.
Nay, let the foolish records be  That make believe you're seventy-five: You're the old Wendell still to me,—  And that's the youngest man alive.
The gray-blue eyes, I see them still,  The gallant front with brown o'erhung, The shape alert, the wit at will,  The phrase that stuck, but never stung.
You keep your youth as you Scotch firs,  Whose gaunt line my horizon hems, Though twilight all the lowland blurs,  Hold sunset in their ruddy stems.
You with the elders? Yes, 'tis true,  But in no sadly literal sense, With elders and coevals too,  Whose verb admits no preterite tense.
Master alike in speech and song  Of fame's great antiseptic — Style, You with the classic few belong  Who tempered wisdom with a smile.
Outlive us all! Who else like you  Could sift the seedcorn from our chaff, And make us with the pen we knew  Deathless at least in epitaph?
# To Howard Phillips Lovecraft

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "To Howard Phillips Lovecraft."
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* "To Howard Phillips Lovecraft" by Clark Ashton Smith. in Weird Tales, 30 (1) (July 1937)
* "To Howard Phillips Lovecraft" by Francis Flagg. in Weird Tales, 31 (3) (March 1938)
# To Ianthe

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* To Ianthe, the first Canto of 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage' by Lord Byron
* To Ianthe, a poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/Mignon

First published in The Bridge of Fire (1907)
Mignon
(From Goethe)
Knowest thou the land where bloom the lemon trees, And darkly gleam the golden oranges? A gentle wind blows down from that blue sky; Calm stands the myrtle and the laurel high. Knowest thou the land? So far and fair! Thou, whom I love, and I will wander there.
Knowest thou the house with all its rooms aglow, And shining hall and columned portico? The marble statues stand and look at me. Alas, poor child, what have they done to thee? Knowest thou the land? So far and fair. My Guardian, thou and I will wander there.
Knowest thou the mountain with its bridge of cloud? The mule plods warily: the white mists crowd. Coiled in their caves the brood of dragons sleep; The torrent hurls the rock from steep to steep. Knowest thou the land? So far and fair. Father, away! Our road is over there!
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/Tenebris Interlucentem

Tenebris Interlucentem
A linnet who had lost her way
Sang on a blackened bough in Hell,
Till all the ghosts remembered well
The trees, the wind, the golden day.
At last they knew that they had died
When they heard music in that land,
And some one there stole forth a hand
To draw a brother to his side.
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/Song in the Night

Song in the Night
(From Bierbaum)
Streets to left, and streets to right,
    Dull and dank it seems,
As I wander in the night
    Wakened from my dreams.
       Yearning,
       Burning,
    Pain and smart,
Whither dost thou sink, my heart? Whither dost thou sink, my heart?
There’s a house with shutters green
    Far away from town,
Where the river rolls serene
    Moving, murmuring down.
       Bowers,
       Flowers!
    Fold it in!
Would I were a guest within! Would I were a guest within!
June 1904
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/Rioupéroux

Rioupéroux
    High and solemn mountains guard Rioupéroux,
    —Small untidy village where the river drives a mill:
    Frail as wood anemones, white and frail were you,
    And drooping a little, like the slender daffodil.
    Oh I will go to France again, and tramp the valley through,
    And I will change these gentle clothes for clog and corduroy,
    And work with the mill-hands of black Rioupéroux,
    And walk with you, and talk with you, like any other boy.
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/Sirmio

Sirmio
Little gem of all-but-islands and of islands, Sirmio, Whether set in landlocked waters, or in Ocean’s freer flow– Oh the pleasant seeing of thee, bright as ever–there below–
Far behind me, to the Northward, lie the dreamy lands of snow. Oh the hour of mad rejoicing, oh the sweet good-bye to woe As with quiet soul aweary of world-wandering to and fro In we hurry through the doorway of our home of long ago ... Hail then, hail! Thy master welcome, welcome him, sweet Sirmio, Leap for joy, ye tumbling waters, winking at the summer’s glow, Gaily through the house resounding let the peals of laughter go.
1901–04
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/Narcissus (1)

A later version is included in this collection.
Narcissus
O thou with whom I dallied
 Through all the hours of noon,—
Sweet water-boy, more pallid
 Than any watery moon; Above thy body turning
 White lily-buds were strewn:
Alas, the silver morning,
 Alas, the golden noon!
Alas, the clouds of sorrow,
 The waters of despair! I sought thee on the morrow,
 And never found thee there.
Since first I saw thee splendid,
 Since last I called thee fair,
My happy ways have ended
 By waters of despair.
The pool that was thy dwelling
 I hardly knew again,
So black it was, and swelling
 With bitter wind and rain.
Amid the reeds I lingered
 Between desire and pain
Till evening, rosy-fingered,
 Beckoned to night again.
Yet once when sudden quiet
 Had visited the skies,
And stilled the stormy riot,
 I looked upon thine eyes.
I saw they wept and trembled
 With glittering mysteries,
But yellow clouds assembled
 Redarkening the skies.
O listless thou art lying
 In waters cool and sweet,
While I, dumb brother, dying,
 Faint in the desert heat.
Though thou dost love another,
 Still let my lips entreat:
Men call me fair, O brother,
 And women honey-sweet.
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/Narcissus (2)

An earlier version is included in this collection.
Narcissus
    O pool in which we dallied
       And splashed the prostrate Noon!
    O Water-boy, more pallid
       Than any watery moon!
    O Lilies round him turning!
       O broken Lilies, strewn!
    O silver Lutes of Morning!
       O Red of the Drums of Noon!
    O dusky-plumaged sorrow!
       O ebon Swans of Care—
    I sought thee on the Morrow,
       And never found thee there!
    I breathed the vapour-blended
       Cloud of a dim despair:
    White lily, is it ended?
       Gold lily oh, golden hair!
    The pool that was thy dwelling
       I hardly knew again,
    So black it was, and swelling
       With bitter wind and rain. ​
    'Mid the bowed leaves I lingered,
       Lashed by the blast of Pain,
    Till evening, storm-rose-fingered,
       Beckoned to night again.
    There burst a flood of Quiet
       Over the unstellèd skies;
    Full moon flashed out a-riot:
       Near her I dreamt thine eyes
    Afloat with night, still trembling
       With captured mysteries:
    But sulphured wracks, assembling,
       Redarkened the bright skies.
    Ah, thou at least art lying
       Safe at the white nymph's feet,
    Listless, while I, slow-dying,
       Twist my gaunt limbs for heat!
    Yet I'll to Earth, my Mother:
       So, boy, I'll still entreat
    Forgive me—for none other
       Like Earth is honey-sweet!
(See former version, page 30)
# The collected poems of James Elroy Flecker/Stillness

Stillness
When the words rustle no more,
And the last work's done,
When the bolt lies deep in the door,
And Fire, our Sun,
Falls on the dark-laned meadows of the floor;
When from the clock's last chime to the next chime
Silence beats his drum,
And Space with gaunt grey eyes and her brother Time
Wheeling and whispering come,
She with the mould of form and he with the loom of rhyme:
Then twittering out in the night my thought-birds flee,
I am emptied of all my dreams:
I only hear Earth turning, only see
Ether's long bankless streams,
And only know I should drown if you laid not your hand on me.
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses

THE WITCH-MAID
OTHER VERSES
DOROTHEA MACKELLAR
1914 LONDON AND TORONTO J. M. DENT & SONS LTD.
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
About a third of these poems have appeared before in a volume published in Australia; several in The Spectator and The Sydney Bulletin, and a few elsewhere. I have to thank the editors for permission to reprint.
CONTENTS
| | PAGE |
| The Witch-Maid | 9 |
| The Colours of Light | 14 |
| From a Town Window | 17 |
| The Santa Maria | 19 |
| "Summer is icumen in" | 21 |
| Night on the Plains | 24 |
| Settlers | 25 |
| My Country | 29 |
| Swallows | 32 |
| Fire | 34 |
| High Places | 35 |
| The Closed Door | 37 |
| Reminder | 40 |
| Culgai Paddock | 41 |
| Canticle | 43 |
| March Winds | 46 |
| Colour | 47 |
| Non Penso a Lei | 50 |
| The Road to Ronda | 52 |
| The Moon and the Morning | 54 ​ |
| Flower and Thorn | 56 |
| The Grey Lake | 58 |
| Burning Off | 61 |
| An Old Song | 63 |
| Bazar | 64 |
| Spring on the Plains | 66 |
| Pilgrim Song | 68 |
| The Coorong Sandhills | 69 |
| Two Japanese Songs: | |
| I. The Heart of a Bird | 71 |
| II. A Smoke Song | 72 |
| An Afterglow on the Nile | 73 |
| The Explorer | 75 |
| September | 77 |
| Riding Rhyme | 80 |
| Four Translations from the German | 82 |
| Chateau D'espagne | 86 |
| Bathing Rhyme | 88 |
| Montoro's Song | 93 |
| Sea-Fog | 95 |
| Sorrow | 96 |
| Seagull | 97 |
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1968, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 55 years or less. 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.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/A Smoke Song

II
A SMOKE SONG
There is a grey plume of smoke on the horizon, The smoke of a steamer that has departed over the edge of the world. There is the smoke of a dying fire in my heart, The smoke has hurt my eyes, they ache with tears.