OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Blockade Runners/X

CHAPTER X. ST. MUNGO
The next day at sunrise the American coast had disappeared; not a ship was visible on the horizon, and the Dolphin, moderating the frightful rapidity of her speed, made quietly towards the Bermudas.
It is useless to recount the passage across the Atlantic, which was marked by no accidents, and ten days after the departure from Queenstown the French coast was hailed.
What passed between the Captain and the young girl may be imagined, even by the least observant individuals. How could Mr. Halliburtt acknowledge the devotion and courage of his deliverer, if it was not by making him the happiest of men? James Playfair did not wait for English seas to declare to the father and daughter the sentiments which overflowed his heart, and, if Crockston is to be believed, Miss Jenny received his confession with a happiness she did not try to conceal.
Thus it happened that on the 14th of February, 18—, a numerous crowd was collected in the dim aisles of St. Mungo, the old cathedral of Glasgow. There were seamen, merchants, manufacturers, magistrates, and some of every denomination gathered here. There was Miss Jenny in bridal array and beside her the worthy Crockston, resplendent in apple-green clothes, with gold buttons, whilst Uncle Vincent stood proudly by his nephew.
In short, they were celebrating the marriage of James Playfair, of the firm of Vincent Playfair & Co., of Glasgow, with Miss Jenny Halliburtt, of Boston.
The ceremony was accomplished amidst great pomp. Everyone knew the history of the Dolphin, and everyone thought the young Captain well recompensed for his devotion. He alone said that his reward was greater than he deserved.
In the evening there was a grand ball and banquet at Uncle Vincent's house, with a large distribution of shillings to the crowd collected in Gordon Street. Crockston did ample justice to this memorable feast, while keeping himself perfectly within bounds.
Everyone was happy at this wedding; some at their own happiness, and others at the happiness around them, which is not always the case at ceremonies of this kind.
Late in the evening, when the guests had retired, James Playfair took his uncle's hand.
"Well, Uncle Vincent," said he to him.
"Well, Nephew James?"
"Are you pleased with the charming cargo I brought you on board the Dolphin?" continued Captain Playfair, showing him his brave young wife.
"I am quite satisfied," replied the worthy merchant; "I have sold my cotton at three hundred and seventy-five per cent. profit."
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Flower of Yarrow

The Flower of Yarrow.
[We can say nothing either of the age or authorship of this song. We find it in a collection of songs published at Glasgow in 1786, called "The British Songster."]
In ancient times as songs rehearse, One charming nymph employ'd each verse, She reign'd alone without a marrow, Mary Scott the flower of Yarrow.
Our fathers with such beauty fir'd, This matchless fair in crowds admir'd: Tho' matchless then, yet here's her marrow, Mary Scott the flower of Yarrow.
Whose beauty unadorn'd by art, With Virtue join'd attracts each heart; Her negligence itself would charm you, She scarcely knows her power to warm you.
For ever cease Italian noise; Let every string and every voice, Sing Mary Scott without a marrow, Mary Scott the flower of Yarrow.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Folk at Lindores

The Folk at Lindores.
[This originally appeared in "The Portfolio of British Song," Glasgow, 1824. It was written by James Stirling, at the time schoolmaster of St. James's parish, Glasgow,—now resident in Canada.—Tune, "Eppie Macnab."]
O weel may I mind on the folk at Lindores; Though it's lang sin' I had onie troke at Lindores; For the blythe winter night Flew o'er us fu' light, Wi' the sang, an' the crack, an' the joke at Lindores.
The auld wife an' the lasses would spin at Lindores; An' the auld man to tales would begin at Lindores, How in days o' his youth The red rebels cam' south, An' spulzied the feck o' his kin at Lindores.
An' he'd tell monie strange says and saws at Lindores; How he hated the dominie's tawse at Lindores, How i' the lang-day The truan' he'd play, An' set aff to herrie the craws at Lindores.
An' he'd sing monie an auld warld rhyme at Lindores; An' tell o' the covenant time at Lindores; How Clavers, fell chiel'! Was in league wi' the deil, How a ball stottit ance aff his wame at Lindores.
They were kind to ilk body that came to Lindores, To the puir, an' the blind, an' the lame at Lindores; Wi' handful's o' meal, An' wi' platefu's o' kale, An' the stranger was sure o' a hame at Lindores.
But the auld man's departed this life at Lindores; An' a tear's in the e'e o' the wife at Lindores; I dinna weel ken Whan I'll be there again, But sorrow, I'm fearin', is rife at Lindores.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Gaberlunzie-man

The Gaberlunzie-man.
[This humorous and graphic piece is generally ascribed to James V. king of Scotland, (born 1512: died 1542). James V. was known often to go in disguise, and indulge in frolics similar to the one here celebrated.]
The pawkie auld carle came o'er the lea, Wi' mony gude e'ens and days to me, Saying, Gudewife, for your courtesie, Will you lodge a silly poor man? The nicht was cauld, the carle was wat, And down ayont the ingle he sat; My doughter's shouthers he 'gan to clap, And cadgily ranted and sang.
O wow! quo' he, were I as free, As first when I saw this countrie, How blythe and merry wad I be! And I wad never think lang. He grew canty, and she grew fain; But little did her auld minny ken What thir slie twa together were say'ng, When wooing they were sae thraug.
And O! quo' he, an' ye were as black As e'er the crown of my daddy's hat, 'Tis I wad lay thee by my back, And awa' wi' me thou should gang. And! quo' she, an' I were as white, As e'er the snaw lay on the dike, I'd cleed me braw and lady like, And awa' wi' thee I would gang.
Between the twa was made a plot; They raise a wee before the cock, And wilily they shot the lock, And fast to the bent are they gane. Up in the morn the auld wife raise, And at her leisure pat on her claise; Syne to the servant's bed she gaes, To speer for the silly poor man.
She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay, The strae was cauld, he was away, She clapt her hands, cry'd, Waladay! For some of our gear will be gane. Some ran to coffer, and some to kist, But nought was stown that cou'd be mist, She danc'd her lane, cry'd. Praise be blest! I have lodg'd a leal poor man.
Since naething's awa', as we can learn, The kirn's to kirn, and milk to earn, Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my bairn, And bid her come quickly ben. The servant gade where the doughter lay, The sheets were cauld, she was away, And fast to the gudewife 'gan say, She's aff wi' the gaberlunzie, man.
O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin, And haste ye find these traytors again; For she's be burnt, and he's be slain, The wearifu' gaberlunzie man. Some rade upo' horse, some ran a fit, The wife was wud, and out o' her wit; She cou'd na gang, nor yet cou'd she sit, But aye she curs'd and she bann'd.
Mean time far hind out o'er the lee, Fu' snug in a glen, where nane could see, The twa wi' kindly sport and glee, Cut frae a new cheese a whang: The priving was good, it pleas'd them baith, To lo'e her for aye, he ga'e her his aith, Quo' she. To leave thee I will be laith, My winsome gaberlunzie man.
O kend my minny I were wi' you, Ill-far'dly wad she crook her mou', Sic a poor man she'd never trow, After the gaberlunzie-man. My dearr, quo' he, ye're yet o'er young, And ha'e nae learn'd the beggar's tongue, To follow me frae town to town, And carry the gaberlunzie on.
Wi' cauk and keel I'll win your bread, And spindles and whorles for them wha need, Whilk is a gentle trade indeed, To carry the gaberlunzie on. I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee, And draw a black clout o'er my e'e, A cripple or blind they will ca' me, While we shall be merry and sing.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Gardener wi' his paidle

The Gardener wi' his paidle.
[The reader may be curious to see the difference between "Dainty Davy," and "The Gardener wi' his paidle." The latter Burns contributed to Johnson's Museum. It is adapted to an old tune, called "The Gardener's March."]
When rosy May comes in wi' flowers, To deck her gay green-spreading bowers, Then busy, busy are his hours— The gard'ner wi' his paidle. The crystal waters gently fa'; The merry birds are lovers a'; The scented breezes round him blaw— The gard'ner wi' his paidle.
When purple morning starts the hare, To steal upon her early fare, Then through the dews he maun repair— The gard'ner wi' his paidle. When day, expiring in the west, The curtain draws of nature's rest, He flies to her arms he lo'es best— The gard'ner wi' his paidle.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Flower of Caledonia

The Flower of Caledonia.
[The author of this song was James Brown, long known in the west of Scotland in his professional capacities of musician and dancing-master. In his latter days he was afflicted with blindness, and kept a small public house, in Jamaica Street, Glasgow, where he died in 1836. He left a great number of songs in manuscript.]
Since uncle's death I've lads anew, That never came before to woo; But to the laddie I'll be true, That lo'ed me first of onie, O; I've lads anew since I gat gear, Before my price they'd hardly speer; But nane to me is half so dear, As my true lover Johnnie, O.
Weel do I mind o' auld langsyne, How they would laugh at me and mine; Now I'll pay them back in their ain coin, And show them I lo'e Johnnie, O. Weel mind I, in my youthfu' days, How happy I've been gath'rin' slaes, And row in' on yon breckan braes, Wi' the flower of Caledonia.
The Laird comes o'er and tells my dad, That surely I am turning mad, And tells my mam I lo'e a lad That's neither rich nor bonnie, O. The Laird is but a silly gowk, For tho' my Johnnie has nae stock, Yet he's the flow'r o' a' the flock, And the pride of Caledonia.
When to the Laird I wrought for fee, He wadna look nor speak to me, But now at breakfast, dine, and tea, He'd fain mak' me his cronie, O; But sure as gowd cures the heart-ach, It's only for my siller's sake; The mair o' me that they a' make, The mair I lo'e my Johnnie, O.
But now my wedding day is set, When I'll be married to my pet, With pleasure I will pay the debt, I've awn sac lang to Johnnie, O. Come, fiddler, now cast aff your coat, We's dance a reel upon the spot, Play "Jockie's made a wedding o't," Or "Snod your cockemonie," O.
How laddies keep your lasses till't, And lasses a' your coaties kilt, And let us ha'e a cantie lilt, Since I ha'e got my Johnnie, O; I've got my heart's desire at last, Though many frowns between us past, And since we're tied baith hard and fast, May peace crown Caledonia!
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Flowers of Edinburgh

The Flowers of Edinburgh.
[The well-known popular tune called "The Flowers of Edinburgh" is not much more than a hundred years old. It appears in Oswald's Caledonian Pocket Companion, 1742, but cannot be traced in any earlier musical collection. It became a fashionable hornpipe about 1740, and was called "The Flowers of Edinburgh," in compliment, it is supposed, to the young ladies of the Scottish capital who were then attending the dancing schools. About the same time the following words were written to the tune. Burns was mistaken in thinking that there were older words to the tune, and that these had a Jacobitical allusion.]
My love was once a bonnie lad, He was the flower of a' his kin, The absence of his bonnie face Has rent my tender heart in twain. I day or night find no delight; In silent tears I still complain; And exclaim 'gainst those my rival foes, That ha'e ta'en from me my darling swain.
Despair and anguish fill my breast, Since I have lost my blooming rose; I sigh and moan while others rest; His absence yields me no repose. To seek my love I'll range and rove, Through every grove and distant plain; Thus I'll ne'er cease, but spend my days, To hear tidings from my darling swain.
There's naething strange in nature's change, Since parents show such cruelty; They caused my love from me to range, And know not to what destiny. The pretty kids and tender lambs May cease to sport upon the plain; But I'll mourn and lament in deep discontent For the absence of my darling swain.
Kind Neptune, let me thee entreat, To send a fair and pleasant gale; Ye dolphins sweet, upon me wait, And convey me upon your tail; Heaven bless my voyage with success, While crossing of the raging main, And send me safe o'er to a distant shore, To meet my lovely darling swain.
All joy and mirth at our return Shall then abound from Tweed to Tay; The bells shall ring and sweet birds sing, To grace and crown our nuptial day. Thus bless'd wi' charms in my love's arms, My heart once more I will regain; Then I'll range no more to a distant shore, But in love will enjoy my darling swain.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Gallant Weaver

The Gallant Weaver.
[Written by Burns for Johnson's Huseam, where it appears set to a fine air called "The Weaver's March." The Cart flows through Paisley, celebrated for its productions of the loom. and it is said that "a gallant weaver" there, named Robert Wilson, offered his hand in marriage to Jean Armour, at the time when she was obliged to seek refuge with a relation in that town, to avoid the effects of her father's displeasure. In these days, a weaver was considered superior in station to a husbandman; and Burns was at first deeply jealous of his Paisley rival; but he afterwards, when Jean proved her fidelity, laughed over the subject—and the present song was in all probability suggested by reminiscences of this passage in his life.]
Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea, By mony a flow'r and spreading tree, There lives a lad, the lad for me, He is a gallant weaver. Oh, I had wooers aught or nine, They gied me rings and ribbons fine; And I was fear'd my heart would tine, And I gied it to the weaver.
My daddie sign'd my tocher-band, To gi'e the lad that has the land; But to my heart I'll add my hand, And gi'e it to the weaver. ​While birds rejoice in leafy bowers: While bees delight in op'ning flowers; While corn grows green in summer showers, I'll love my gallant weaver.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Group

The Group.
[By Alex. Wilson of Paisley. Tune, "Poor Laurie."—We give this as conveying an interesting sketch of Wilson's acquaintances, while he was the poor weaver and pedlar. The description of himself in the last verse but one, where he mentions "the want of ambition" as his worst misery, shows how little he knew of himself until he had a great object to contend for.]
Come fill up the bowl, my brave boys! And round let us circle the treasure; Huzza! my good fellows, rejoice! For here is a fountain of pleasure. And while the big bumper doth pass, Old Bacchus shall never confound me; I'll drink, and, between every glass, Loud roar of the wits that surround me, And bring their each talent to view.
Imprimis. Here sits by my side, A hum'rous young son of the muses, Who lord o'er our passions can ride, And wind them wherever he chuses. The terrible frown he can form, Look dismally holy hereafter. Then screw up his face to a storm, That nigh bursts the beholder with laughter, And makes every mortal his friend.
That little stout fellow in green, Observe how accomplish'd and tight he's; Good humour sits full in his mien, And mirth his eternal delight is. When through the wild hornpipe he sweeps, We stare as we never had seen him, So nimbly he capers and leaps, You would swear that some devil was in him, To flourish his heels so expert.
See! handing the glass to his friend, Young Jamie, polite and endearing; To please he is ever inclined, Though sometimes harassingly jeering. So sweetly a sonnet he sings, He chats to the ladies so clever, That Cupid should sure give him wings, And make him his archer for ever, To level the beauties and belles.
And there sits the Genius of song, Whose music so nobly can warm us, The fife now arousingly strong, Now waking the viol to charm us: Yet sometimes he's mournfully mute, And though we implore while we're able, He frowning refuses the flute, And pensively leans on the table, As if he were lull'd in a trance.
With golden locks loose to the wind, Here sits a swain, kind and free-hearted, To every one science inclined, By every amusement diverted. Philosophy, painting, and song, Alternately gain his affection, But his bliss is to store up a throng Of insects and worms for dissection, Of numberless sizes and kinds.
Here Wilson and Poverty sit, Perpetually boxing together, Till beat by good liquor she flits, And leaves him as light as a feather. From two most unfortunate views, Proceeds his inconstant condition; His joys are the smiles of the muse, And his misery the want of ambition, To climb to the notice of fools. ​But round with the liquor, my boys! 'Tis folly to languish repining; To swell up the tide of our joys, This brimmer was sent us so shining. Since blockheads and asses grow rich, And modesty murders the wearer, If Merit must cower in the ditch, May she still have a bumper to cheer her, And raise her poor head to the skies.
# Tales Of The Uncanny And Supernatural

Scan available at https://archive.org/details/in.ernet.dli.2015.125930/page/n11/mode/2up
* The Doll
* Running Wolf
* The Little Beggar
* The Occupant of the Room
* The Man Whom the Trees Loved
* The Valley of the Beasts
* The South Wind/
* The Man Who Was Milligan
* The Trod
* The Terror of the Twins
* The Deferred Appointment
* Accessory Before the Fact
* The Glamour of the Snow
* The House of the Past
* The Decoy/
* The Tradition
* The Touch of Pan
* Entrance and Exit
* The Pikestaffe Case
* The Empty Sleeve
* Violence
* The Lost Valley
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
# The Book of Enoch (Charles)/Chapter 88
### LXXXVIII. The Punishment of the Fallen Angels by the Archangels.

CHAPTER LXXXVIII.
1. And I saw one of those four who had come forth first, and he seized that first star which had fallen from the heaven, and bound it hand and foot and cast it into an abyss: now that abyss was narrow and deep, and horrible and dark. 2. And one of them drew a sword, and gave it to those elephants and camels and asses: then they began to smite each other, and the whole earth quaked because of them. 3. And as I was beholding in the vision, lo, one of those four who had come forth stoned (them) from heaven, and gathered and took all the great stars whose privy members were like those of horses, and bound them all hand and foot, and cast them in an abyss of the earth.
# The Book of Enoch (Charles)/Chapter 93
### XCIII, XCI. 12-17. The Apocalypse of Weeks.

CHAPTER XCIII.
1. And after that Enoch both †gave† and began to recount from the books. 2. And Enoch said:
‘Concerning the children of righteousness and concerning the elect of the world,
And concerning the plant of uprightness, I will speak these things,
Yea, I Enoch will declare (them) unto you, my sons:
According to that which appeared to me in the heavenly vision,
And which I have known through the word of the holy angels,
And have learnt from the heavenly tablets.’
3. And Enoch began to recount from the books and said:
‘I was born the seventh in the first week,
While judgement and righteousness still endured.
4. And after me there shall arise in the second week great wickedness,
And deceit shall have sprung up;
And in it there shall be the first end.
And in it a man shall be saved;
And after it is ended unrighteousness shall grow up,
And a law shall be made for the sinners.
5. And after that in the third week at its close
A man shall be elected as the plant of righteous judgement,
And his posterity shall become the plant of righteousness for evermore.
6. And after that in the fourth week, at its close,
Visions of the holy and righteous shall be seen,
And a law for all generations and an enclosure shall be made for them.
7. And after that in the fifth week, at its close,
The house of glory and dominion shall be built for ever.
8. And after that in the sixth week all who live in it shall be blinded,
And the hearts of all of them shall godlessly forsake wisdom.
And in it a man shall ascend;
And at its close the house of dominion shall be burnt with fire,
And the whole race of the chosen root shall be dispersed.
9. And after that in the seventh week shall an apostate generation arise,
And many shall be its deeds,
And all its deeds shall be apostate.
10. And at its close shall be elected
The elect righteous of the eternal plant of righteousness,
To receive sevenfold instruction concerning all His creation.
11. [For who is there of all the children of men that is able to hear the voice of the Holy One without being troubled? And who can think His thoughts? and who is there that can behold all the works of heaven? 12. And how should there be one who could behold the heaven, and who is there that could understand the things of heaven and see a soul or a spirit and could tell thereof, or ascend and see all their ends and think them or do like them? 13. And who is there of all men that could know what is the breadth and the length of the earth, and to whom has been shown the measure of all of them? 14. Or is there any one who could discern the length of the heaven and how great is its height, and upon what it is founded, and how great is the number of the stars, and where all the luminaries rest?]
# The Book of Enoch (Charles)/Chapter 94
### XCIV. 1-5. Admonitions to the Righteous.

CHAPTER XCIV.
1. And now I say unto you, my sons, love righteousness and walk therein;
For the paths of righteousness are worthy of acceptation,
But the paths of unrighteousness shall suddenly be destroyed and vanish.
2. And to certain men of a generation shall the paths of violence and of death be revealed,
And they shall hold themselves afar from them,
And shall not follow them.
3. And now I say unto you the righteous:
Walk not in the paths of wickedness, nor in the paths of death,
And draw not nigh to them, lest ye be destroyed.
4. But seek and choose for yourselves righteousness and an elect life,
And walk in the paths of peace,
And ye shall live and prosper.
5. And hold fast my words in the thoughts of your hearts,
And suffer them not to be effaced from your hearts;
For I know that sinners will tempt men to evilly-entreat wisdom,
So that no place may be found for her,
And no manner of temptation may minish.

### XCIV. 6-11. Woes for the Sinners.

6. Woe to those who build unrighteousness and oppression
And lay deceit as a foundation;
For they shall be suddenly overthrown,
And they shall have no peace.
7. Woe to those who build their houses with sin;
For from all their foundations shall they be overthrown,
And by the sword shall they fall.
[And those who acquire gold and silver in judgement suddenly shall perish.]
8. Woe to you, ye rich, for ye have trusted in your riches,
And from your riches shall ye depart,
Because ye have not remembered the Most High in the days of your riches.
9. Ye have committed blasphemy and unrighteousness,
And have become ready for the day of slaughter,
And the day of darkness and the day of the great judgement.
10. Thus I speak and declare unto you:
He who hath created you will overthrow you,
And for your fall there shall be no compassion,
And your Creator will rejoice at your destruction.
11. And your righteous ones in those days shall be
A reproach to the sinners and the godless.