OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Fairfa' the lasses (1)/Is there a heart that never lov'd

Is there a heart that never lov'd
Is there a heart that never lov’d. Nor felt soft woman’s igh? Is there a man can mark, unmov’d, Dear woman’s tearful eye? Oh! bear him to some distant shore, Or solitary cell, Where nought but savage monsters roar, Where love ne’er deign’d to dwell.
For there’s a charm in woman’s eye, A language in her tear, A spell in every sacred sigh, To man—to virtue dear. And he who can resist her smiles, With brutes alone should live, Nor taste that joy which care beguiles—— That joy her virtues give.
# Fairfa' the lasses (1)/To Mary in Heaven

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
Thou ling'ring star with less’ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher’st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary, dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?
That sacred hour can I forget?—— Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met To live one day pf parting love? Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past,—— Thy image at our last embrace;—— Ah! little thought we ’twas our last!
Ayr, gurgling, kiss’d his pebbled shore, O’erhung with wild woods, thick’ning, green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twin'd am’rous round the raptur'd scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim’d the speed of winged day.
Still o’er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, And fondly broods with miser care;
​Time but the impression stronger makes, As streams their deeper channels wear. My Mary, dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?
# Fairfa' the lasses (1)/The Bay of Biscay O

THE BAY OF BISCAY O.
Loud roar’d the dreadful thuuder; The rain in deluge show’rs! The clouds were rent asunder By lightning’s vivid pow’rs. The night both drear and dark, Our poor devoted bark, Till next day, There she lay, In the bay of Biscay O.
Now dash’d upon the billow, Our op’ning timbers creak; Each fears a wat’ry pillow, None stop the dreadful leak. To cling to slipp’ry shronds, Each breathless seamen crowds, As she lay, Till the day, In the bay of Biscay O.
​At length the wish'd-for morrow Broke thro' the hazy sky; Absorb'd in silent sorrow, Each heav'd the bitter sigh : The dismal wreck to view, Struck horror to the crew, As he lay, On that day, In the bay of Biscay O.
Her yielding timbers sever, Her pitchy seams are rent; When Heav'n, all bounteous ever, Its boundless mercy sent! A sail in sight appears, We hail her with three cheers! Now we sail, With the gale, From the bay of Biscay O.
finis.
# Twa weavers

Dated from internal and external evidence.
THE TWA WEAVERS
THE MINSTREL BOY.
Canadian Boat Song.
Gaily still the moments roll.
THO’ YOU LEAVE ME NOW IN SORROW.
The Year that’s awa'.
I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen.
RULE BRITANNIA.
Glasgow—Printed for the ⟨Booksellers.⟩
* The Twa Weavers
* The Minstrel Boy
* Canadian Boat Song
* Gaily still the moments roll
* Tho' you leave me now in sorrow
* The year that's awa'
* I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen
* Rule Britannia
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
# Twa weavers/The twa weavers

THE TWA WEAVERS.
When war and taxation had fleec’d us right sair, And made us like scaur-crows, a’ ragged and bare, Two poor weaver bodies ae day chanc’d to meet, Wi' scarcely a shoe on their stockingless feet; Their skin through their auld tatter’d cleeding did shine, And their beards might hae pass’d for a Bishop’s langsyne.
"Weel Robin" quo’ Thomas "what way do ye fen And do ye aye live yet, out by at Woodend? "Live!—faith I live naewhere, I starve at Tolcross, Gude troth, I'm owre like you, and that is our loss; For ilka thing now, does against us combine, Which gar’s look back, wi’ regret on langsyne.
​"These three weeks a' rinin, I’ve rise at three, An’ wrought just as lang as a body could see, An’ a’ that I’ve made ot', in that time I trow, Wad scarce get potatoes an’ dross for a sow; What then?—we are counted a parcel o’swine, An’ laugh’d at, whene’er we look back to langsyne.
"But what need we speak o’ our ain private case, When famine, and want, are pourtrayed on ilk face, When thousands whose prospects in life once were fair, Now pine in starvation, and sigh in despair, When toil, and disease, and chill penury join, To blast every comfort the poor had langsyne.
"Hech man!—if what you had stated be fact, Our prospects indeed are most gloomy and black "But do ye not think they may yet brighten up? Indeed to be candid, I’ve nae siccan hope, Unless the Black Book to the flames we consign, And begin a new score like oar lathers langsyne.
# Twa weavers/The minstrel boy

THE MINSTREL BOY.
The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone, In the ranks of death you’ll find him, His father’s sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him.— "Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, "Tho’ all the world betrays thee, "One sword, at least thy rights shall guard, "One faithful harp shall praise thee!"
The minstrel fell!—but the Foeman’s chain Could not bring his proud soul under, The harp he lov'd ne’er spoke again, For he tore its cords asunder; And said, "No chains shall sully thee, "Thou soul of love and bravery! "Thy songs we’re made for the pure and free "They shall never sound in slavery!"
# Twa weavers/Gaily still the moments roll

GAILY STILL.
Gaily still the moments roll
While I quaff the flowing bowl,
Care can never reach the soul, That deeply drinks of Wine, That deeply drinks of Wine,
Care can never reach the soul, That deeply, deeply drinks of Wine.
See the Lover pale with grief
Bind his brows m;th willow leaf,
But his heart soon finds relief, By drinking deep of Wine, &c.
Byes of fire, and lips of dew,
Cheeks that shame the rose’s hue,
What are these to me or you, That deeply drinks, &c.
# Twa weavers/Tho' you leave me now in sorrow

THO’ YOU LEAVE ME NOW IN SORROW.
Tho’ you leave now in sorrow, Smiles may light on our love to-morrow; Doom’d to part, my faithful heart, A gleam of joy from hope shall borrow. Ah ne’er forget when friends are near, This heart alone is thine for ever, Thou may’st find those who love thee dear, Bat not a love like mine, O never. Tho’ you leave me, &c.
# Twa weavers/The year that's awa'

THE YEAR THAT’S AWA’
Here’s to the year that’s awa,
We will drink it strong and in sma';
An' here’s to ilk bonny young lassie we lo’e;
While swift flew the years that’s awa. An’ here’s to ilk, &c.
​Here’s to the soger wha bled, An' the sailor wha bravely did fa': Though their fame is alive, yet their spirits are fled, On the wings of the year that’s awa. Though their fame is alive, &c.
Here’s to the friend we can trust, While the storms of adversity blaw; May they live in our song, and be nearest our hearts, Nor depart like the year that’s awa. May they live, &c.
# Twa weavers/I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen

I GAED A WAEFU’ GATE YESTREEN.
I gaed a waefu’ gate yestreen, A gate, I fear, I’ll dearly rue; I gat my death frae twa sweet een, Twa lovely een o’ bonnie blue. ’Twas not her golden ringlets bright, Her lips like roses, wat wi’ dew, Her heaving bosom lily white; It was her een sae bonnie blue.
She talk’d, she smil’d, my heart she wil’d, She charm’d my soul, I wistna how; And aye the stound, the deadly wound, ​She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wil'd, She charm'd my soul, I wistna how; And aye the stound, the deadly wound, Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue. But spare o' speak, and spare to speed, She’ll alblins listen to my vow: Should she refuse, I’ll lay my dead To her twa een sae bonnie blue.
# Twa weavers/Rule Britannia

RULE BRITANNIA.
When Britain first, at Heaven’s command, Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung this strain; Rule, Britannia, Britannia, rule the waves, Britons never shall be slaves.
In nations, not so bless’d as thee Must in their turn to tyrant’s fall Whilst thou shall flourish, great and free The dread and envy of them all. Rule Britannia, &c.
# Nine popular songs

NINE
POPULAR SONGS.
BRUCE’S ADDRESS.
GLOOMY WINTER’S NOW AWA.
HOME! SWEET HOME.
I GAED A WAEFU’ GATE YESTREEN.
A’ THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.
MY HEART AND LUTE.
ALL THAT’S BRIGHT MUST FADE.
MY ANNA’S URN.
COMING THROUGH THE RYE.
GLASGOW:
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
47.
* Bruce's Address
* I Gaed a Waefu' Gate Yestreen
* A' the Airts the Wind can Blaw
* Home! Sweet Home
* Coming through the Rye
* Gloomy Winter's Now Awa
* My Heart and Lute
* All That's Bright Must Fade
* My Anna's Urn
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
# Nine popular songs/Bruce's Address

SONGS.
BRUCE’S ADDRESS.
Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots whom Bruce has often led, Welcomed to your gory bed, Or to Victory! Now’s the day and now’s the hour, See the front of battle lour, See approach proud Edward’s power; Edward! chains and slavery.
Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha will fill a coward’s grave? Wha’s sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee. Wha for Scotland’s king and law Freedom’s sword will strongly draw? Freemen stand, or freemen fa’, Caledonians, on wi’ me.
By oppression, woes, and pains! By your sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins, But we shall be free,
​Lay the proud usurper low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty’s in every blow! Forward! let us do or die!
# Nine popular songs/I Gaed a Waefu' Gate Yestreen

I GAED A WAEFU’ GATE YESTREEN.
I gaed a waefu’ gate yestreen, A gate, I fear, I’ll dearly rue; I gat my death frae twa sweet een Twa lovely een o’ bonny blue.
’Twas not her golden ringlets bright, Her lips like roses wat wi’ dew, Her heaving bosom, lily-white, It was her een sae bonny blue.
She talk’d, she smil’d, my heart she wil’d, She charm’d my soul, I wistna how; And aye the stound the deadly wound, Cam frae her een sae bonny blue.
But spare to speak, and spare to speed, She’ll aiblins listen to my vow; Should she refuse, I’ll lay my deed To her twa een sae bonny blue.
# Nine popular songs/A' the Airts the Wind can Blaw

A’ THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.
Of a’ the airs the wind can blaw, I dearly lo’e the west, For there the bonny lassie lives, The lass that I lo’e best.
​Though wild-woods grow, and rivers row, Wi’ mony a hill between, Baith day and night my fancy’s flight Is ever wi’ my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flower, Sae lovely, sweet, and fair; I hear her voice in ilka bird, Wi’ music charm the air. There’s not a bonny spot that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, Nor yet a bonny bird that sings. But minds me o’ my Jean.
O blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft, Amang the leafy trees; Wi’ gentle breath, frae muir and dale, Bring hame the laden bees; And bring the lassie back to me, That’s aye sae neat and clean! Ae blink o’ her wad banish care, Sae charming is my Jean.
What sighs and vows amang the knowes, Hae past atween us twa; How fain to meet, how wae to part, That day she gaed awa. The Powers aboon can only tell, To whom the heart is seen. That nane can be sae dear to me, As my sweet lovely Jean!
# Nine popular songs/Coming through the Rye

COMING THROUGH THE RYE.
If a body meet a body comin’ through the rye, If a body meet a body, need a body cry? Every lassie has her laddie, Nane, they say, hae I; Yet a’ the lads they smile at me, When comin’ through the rye. Amang the train there is a swain I dearly lo’o mysel’; But whare his hame, or what his name, I dinna care to tell.
​If a body meet a body comin’ frae the toun, If a body greet a body, need a body frown? Every lassie has her laddie, Nane, they say, hae I; Yet a’ the lads they smile at me When comin’ through the rye. Amang the train there is a swain I dearly lo’e mysel’; But whare his hame, or what his name, I dinna care to tell.
# Nine popular songs/Gloomy Winter's Now Awa

GLOOMY WINTER’S NOW AWA.
Gloomy winter’s now awa, Saft the westlin breezes blaw, ’Mang the birks o’ Stanely shaw, The mavis sings fu’ cheery, O. Sweet the crawflowers early bell Decks Gleniffer’s dewy dell, Blooming like thy bonny sel’, My young, my artless dearie, O.
Come, my lassie, let us go O’er Glenkilloch’s sunny brae, Blythely spend the gowden day, Midst joys that never weary, O. Tow’ring o’er the Newton woods, Lav’rocks fawn the snaw-white clouds, Siller saughs, wi’ downy buds, Adorn the banks sae briery, O.
​Round the sylvan fairy nooks, Feather’d breckans fringe the rocks, ’Neath the brae the burnie jouks, And ilka thing is cheery, O. Trees may bud, and birds may sing, Flowers may bloom, and verdure spring, Joy to me they canna bring, Unless wi’ thee, my dearie, O.
# Nine popular songs/My Heart and Lute

MY HEART AND LUTE.
I give thee all, I can no more, Though poor the off’ring be; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee. A lute whose gentle soul reveals The soul of love full well; And, better far, a heart that feels Much more than lute can tell. I give thee all, &c.
Though love and song may fail, alas! To keep life’s clouds away, At least ’twill make them lighter pass, Or gild them if they stay. If ever care his discord flings O’er life’s enchanted strain, Let love but gently touch the strings, ’Twill all be sweet again. I give thee all, &c.
# Nine popular songs/All That's Bright Must Fade

ALL THAT’S BRIGHT MUST FADE.
All that’s bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest, All that’s sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest! Stars that shine and fall, The flower that droops in springing, These, alas! are types of all To which our hearts are clinging.
Who would seek or prize Delights that end in aching? Who would trust to ties That every hour are breaking? Better far to be In utter darkness lying, Than blest with light, and see That light for ever flying!
# The Poetical Works of Robert Burns/The Blue-eyed Lassie

THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE.
TUNE—'THE BLATHRIE O'T.'
# Four Songs (Newton-Stewart)/The Blue Eyed Lassie

THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/Passaconaway's Ride to Heaven

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PASSACONAWAY'S RIDE TO HEAVEN
THE personality of Passaconaway, the powerful chief and prophet, is involved in doubt, but there can be no misprision of his wisdom. By some historians he has been made one with St. Aspenquid, the earliest of native missionaries among the Indians, who, after his conversion by French Jesuits, travelled from Maine to the Pacific, preaching to sixty-six tribes, healing the sick and working miracles, returning to die at the age of ninety-four. He was buried on the top of Agamenticus, Maine, where his manes were pacified with offerings of three thousand slain animals, and where his tombstone stood for a century after, bearing the legend, "Present, useful; absent, wanted; living, desired; dying, lamented."
By others Passaconaway is regarded as a different person. The Child of the Bear—to English his name—was the chief of the Merrimacs and a convert of the apostle Eliot. Natives and colonists alike admired him for his eloquence, his bravery, and his virtue. Before his conversion he was a reputed wizard who sought by magic arts to repel the invasion of his woods and mountains by the white men, invoking the spirits of nature against them from the topmost peak of the Agiochooks, and his native followers declared that in pursuance of this intent he made water burn, rocks move, trees dance, and transformed himself into a mass of flame.
​Such was his power over the forces of the earth that he could burn a tree in winter and from its ashes bring green leaves; he made dead wood blossom and a farmer's flail to bud, while a snake's skin he could cause to run. At the age of one hundred and twenty he retired from his tribe and lived in a lonely wigwam among the Pennacooks. One winter night the howling of wolves was heard, and a pack came dashing through the village harnessed by threes to a sledge of hickory saplings that bore a tall throne spread with furs. The wolves paused at Passaconaway's door. The old chief came forth, climbed upon the sledge, and was borne away with a triumphal apostrophe that sounded above the yelping and snarling of his train. Across Winnepesaukee's frozen surface they sped like the wind, and the belated hunter shrank aside as he saw the giant towering against the northern lights and heard his death-song echo from the cliffs. Through pathless woods, across ravines, the wolves sped on, with never slackened speed, into the mazes of the Agiochooks to that highest peak we now call Washington. Up its steep wilderness of snow the ride went furiously; the summit was neared, the sledge burst into flame, still there was no pause; the height was gained, the wolves went howling into darkness, but the car, wrapped in sheaves of fire, shot like a meteor toward the sky and was lost amid the stars of the winter night. So passed the Indian king to heaven.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/The Great Carbuncle

Layout 2
THE GREAT CARBUNCLE
HIGH on the eastern face of Mount Monroe shone the Great Carbuncle, its flash scintillating for miles by day, its dusky crimson glowing among the ledges at night. The red men said that it hung in the air, and that the soul of an Indian—killed, that he might guard the spot—made approach perilous to men of all complexions and purposes. As late as Ethan Crawford's time one search band took a "good man" to lay the watcher, when they strove to scale the height, but they returned "sorely bruised, treasureless, and not even saw that wonderful sight." The value of the stone tempted many, but those who sought it had to toil through a dense forest, and on arriving at the mountain found its glories eclipsed by intervening abutments, nor could they get near it. Rocks covered with crystals, at first thought to be diamonds, were readily despoiled of their treasure, but the Great Carbuncle burned on, two thousand feet above them, at the head of the awful chasm of Oakes Gulf, and baffled seekers likened it to the glare of an evil eye.
​There was one who had grown old in searching for this gem, often scrambling over the range in wind and snow and cloud, and at last he reached a precipitous spot he had never attained before. Great was his joy, for the Carhuncle was within his reach, blazing into his eyes in the noon sunlight as if it held, crystallized in its depths, the brightness of all the wine that had ever gladdened the tired hearts of men. There were rivals in the search, and on reaching the plateau they looked up and saw him kneeling on a narrow ledge with arms extended as in rapture. They called to him. He answered not. He was dead—dead of joy and triumph. While they looked a portion of the crag above him fell away and rolled from rock to rock, marking its course with flashes of bloody fire, until it reached the Lake of the Clouds, and the waters of that tarn drowned its glory. Yet those waters are not always black, and sometimes the hooked crest of Mount Monroe is outlined against the night sky in a ruddy glow.
# The Federalist (Gideon)/The Letters of Pacificus

The Letters of Pacificus.
By Alexander Hamilton.
* 1 p. 551 ff.
* 2 p. 560 ff.
* 3 p. 568 ff.
* 4 p. 572 ff.
* 5 p. 576 ff.
* 6 p. 582 ff.
* 7 p. 588 ff.
# Brooklyn Times-Union/1901/Bellport's Colored Settlement

North Bellport, New York in the Brooklyn Times-Union on March 15, 1901.
Bellport's Colored Settlement.
Bellport, New York; March 15, 1901. An interesting feature of North Bellport is the colored settlement, which lies scattered along the road leading to the train station. A neat little church is creditably sustained by these colored inhabitants and many tiny houses or cabins are kept up in comfort. The type seen here are far more interesting than those met with in the South, for the air of abject poverty is lacking. Their homes being on the outskirts of the pine woods, they have fuel at their door. The men and boys hunt the opossum, or savory "coon", which abounds here, and work is plentiful, if wanted. With their keen love of music, "fiddles" and "coon songs," the "double shuffle" and hand-clapping are nightly heard.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
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
# Brooklyn Times-Union/1889/Farmingdale

Jarvis Andrew Lattin (1853-1941) in the Brooklyn Times-Union on May 8, 1889.
Farmingdale
H. H. Fuechsel, until recently Justice of the Peace at Farmingdale, has moved with his family to New York City.
Mr. Jarvis Lattin, who recently went to Nebraska to try and dispose of his farm there, has been unfortunate in losing his dwelling by fire.
The new fire engine has served and after being tried has been found all right. It is rightly named the Water Witch. Now Farmingdale can boast of the best-equipped fire company any village of its site on Long Island.
The members of Farmingdale Hook and Ladder Company are preparing for an entertainment to be given in their new ball on the evening of Decoration Day. The Entertainment Committee are making extensive preparation for the occasion.
Humphrey Pike has returned from his trip from New York on business connected with the Royal Arcanum, as he is one of the Grand Lodge officers.
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.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse