OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Book of Enoch (Charles)/Chapter 97
### XCVII. The Evils in Store for Sinners and the Possessors of Unrighteous Wealth.

CHAPTER XCVII.
1. Believe, ye righteous, that the sinners will become a shame
And perish in the day of unrighteousness.
2. Be it known unto you (ye sinners) that the Most High is mindful of your destruction,
And the angels of heaven rejoice over your destruction.
3. What will ye do, ye sinners,
And whither will ye flee on that day of judgement,
When ye hear the voice of the prayer of the righteous?
4. Yea, ye shall fare like unto them,
Against whom this word shall be a testimony:
“Ye have been companions of sinners.”
5. And in those days the prayer of the righteous shall reach unto the Lord,
And for you the days of your judgement shall come.
6. And all the words of your unrighteousness shall be read out before the Great Holy One,
And your faces shall be covered with shame,
And He will reject every work which is grounded on unrighteousness.
7. Woe to you, ye sinners, who live on the mid ocean and on the dry land,
Whose remembrance is evil against you.
8. Woe to you who acquire silver and gold in unrighteousness and say:
‘We have become rich with riches and have possessions;
And have acquired everything we have desired.
9. And now let us do what we purposed:
For we have gathered silver,
9c. And many are the husbandmen in our houses.’
9d. And our granaries are (brim) full as with water,
10. Yea and like water your lies shall flow away;
For your riches shall not abide
But speedily ascend from you;
For ye have acquired it all in unrighteousness,
And ye shall be given over to a great curse.
# The Book of Enoch (Charles)/Chapter 92

CHAPTER XCII.
1. The book written by Enoch—[Enoch indeed wrote this complete doctrine of wisdom, (which is) praised of all men and a judge of all the earth] for all my children who shall dwell on the earth. And for the future generations who shall observe uprightness and peace.
2. Let not your spirit be troubled on account of the times;
For the Holy and Great One has appointed days for all things.
3. And the righteous one shall arise from sleep,
[Shall arise] and walk in the paths of righteousness,
And all his path and conversation shall be in eternal goodness and grace.
4. He will be gracious to the righteous and give him eternal uprightness,
And He will give him power so that he shall be (endowed) with goodness and righteousness,
And he shall walk in eternal light.
5. And sin shall perish in darkness for ever,
And shall no more be seen from that day for evermore.
# The Book of Enoch (Charles)/Chapter 95
### XCV. Enoch’s Grief: fresh Woes against the Sinners.

CHAPTER XCV.
1. Oh that mine eyes were [a cloud of] waters
That I might weep over you,
And pour down my tears as a cloud †of waters†:
That so I might rest from my trouble of heart!
2. †Who has permitted you to practise reproaches and wickedness?
And so judgement shall overtake you, sinners.†
3. Fear not the sinners, ye righteous;
For again will the Lord deliver them into your hands,
That ye may execute judgement upon them according to your desires.
4. Woe to you who fulminate anathemas which cannot be reversed:
Healing shall therefore be far from you because of your sins.
5. Woe to you who requite your neighbour with evil;
For ye shall be requited according to your works.
6. Woe to you, lying witnesses,
And to those who weigh out injustice,
For suddenly shall ye perish.
7. Woe to you, sinners, for ye persecute the righteous;
For ye shall be delivered up and persecuted because of injustice,
And heavy shall its yoke be upon you.
# The Book of Enoch (Charles)/Chapter 96
### XCVI. Grounds of Hopefulness for the Righteous: Woes for the Wicked.

CHAPTER XCVI.
1. Be hopeful, ye righteous; for suddenly shall the sinners perish before you,
And ye shall have lordship over them according to your desires.
2. [And in the day of the tribulation of the sinners,
Your children shall mount and rise as eagles,
And higher than the vultures will be your nest,
And ye shall ascend and enter the crevices of the earth,
And the clefts of the rock for ever as coneys before the unrighteous,
And the sirens shall sigh because of you—and weep.]
3. Wherefore fear not, ye that have suffered;
For healing shall be your portion,
And a bright light shall enlighten you,
And the voice of rest ye shall hear from heaven.
4. Woe unto you, ye sinners, for your riches make you appear like the righteous,
But your hearts convict you of being sinners,
And this fact shall be a testimony against you for a memorial of (your) evil deeds.
5. Woe to you who devour the finest of the wheat,
And drink wine in large bowls,
And tread under foot the lowly with your might.
6. Woe to you who drink water from every fountain,
For suddenly shall ye be consumed and wither away,
Because ye have forsaken the fountain of life.
7. Woe to you who work unrighteousness
And deceit and blasphemy:
It shall be a memorial against you for evil.
8. Woe to you, ye mighty,
Who with might oppress the righteous;
For the day of your destruction is coming.
In those days many and good days shall come to the righteous—in the day of your judgement.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Rover o' Lochryan

The Rover o' Lochryan.
[Hugh Ainslie.—Set to music by R. A. Smith.]
The Rover o' Lochryan, he's gane Wi' his merry men sae brave; Their hearts are o' the steel, an' a better keel Ne'er bowl'd owre the back o' a wave. It's no when the loch lies dead in its trough, When naething disturbs it ava; But the rack, an' the ride o' the restless side Or the splash o' the grey sea-maw.
It's no when the yawl an' the light skiffs crawl Owre the breast o' the siller sea, That I look to the west for the bark I lo'e best, An' the Rover that's dear to me. But when that the clud lays its cheeks to the flud, An' the sea lays its shouther to the shore; When the win' sings high, an' the sea-whaups cry As they rise frae the whitening roar. ​It's then that I look to the thickening rook, An' watch by the midnight tide; I ken the wind brings my rover hame, An' the sea that he glories to ride. O merry he sits 'mang his jovial crew Wi' the helm-heft in his hand, An' he sings aloud to his boys in blue, As his e'e's upon Galloway's land—
"Unstent an' slack each reef and tack, Gi'e her sail, boys, while it may sit; She has roar'd through a heavier sea afore, An' she'll roar through a heavier yet. When landsmen sleep, or wake an' creep, In the tempest's angry moan, We dash through the drift, and sing to the lift O' the wave, that heaves us on."
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Robin's Testament

The Robin's Testament.
[From Herd's Collection, 1776. "'Gude day to you, Robin,'" says Mr. Robert Cliambers, "is a song which I have heard sung by old women and nurses in my own young days. It may be localized, from the various allusions, as belonging to Clydesdale; and I should suppose it to have been written some time after 1622, probably not long, as the old bridge of Tay at Perth, built by Robert Bruce, gave way that year, and was not again built till 1772. The mending or re-erection of the bridge of Tay was a matter of agitation during the reign of Charles I.: and that sovereign, when Scotland in 1641, subscribed an hundred pounds for the purpose. May not the song have been written at that precise era?"]
Gude day now, bonnie Robin, How lang ha'e ye been here? I've been a bird about this bush This mair than twenty year.
But now I am the sickest bird That ever sat on brier; And I wad mak' my testament, Gudeman, if ye wad hear.
Gar tak' this bonnie neb o' mine, That picks upon the corn And gi'e't to the duke o' Hamilton, To be a hunting-horn.
Gar tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine, The feathers o' my neb; And gi'e to the lady Hamilton, To fill a feather bed.
Gar tak' t'ais gude richt leg o' mine, And mend the brig o' Tay; It will be a post and pillar gude, It will neither bow nor gae.
And tak' this other leg of mine, And mend the brig o' Weir; It will be a post and pillar gude, It will neither bow nor steer.
Gar tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine, The feathers o' my tail; And gi'e to the lads o' Hamilton To be a barn-flail.
And tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine, The feathers o' my breast; And gi'e them to the bonnie lad, Win bring to me a priest.
Now in there cam' my lady wren, Wi' mony a sigh and groan, O what care I for a' the lads, If my ain lad be gone!
When Robin turn'd him round about, E'en like a little king; Gae pack ye out at my chamber-door, Ye little cutty-quean.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Rose in Yarrow

The Rose in Yarrow.
[From "The British Songster," Glasgow, 1786.—Air, "Mary Scott."]
'Twas summer, and the day was fair, Resolved awhile to fy from care, Beguiling thought, forgetting sorrow, I wandered o'er the braes of Yarrow. Till then despising beauty's power, I kept my heart my own secure; But Cupid's dart did then work sorrow, And Mary's charms on braes of Yarrow.
Will cruel love no bribe receive? No ransom take for Mary's slave? Her frowns of rest and hope deprive me, Her lovely smiles like light revive me. No bondage may with mine compare, Since first I saw this charming fair; This beauteous flow'r, this rose of Yarrow, In nature's gardens has no marrow.
Had I of heaven but one request, I'd ask to lie on Mary's breast; There would I live or die with pleasure, Nor spare this world one moment's leisure; Despising kings, and all that's great, I'd smile at courts, and courtiers' fate; My joy complete on such a marrow, I'd dwell with her, and live on Yarrow.
But though such bliss I ne'er should gain, Contented still I wear my chain, In hopes my faithful heart may move her, For leaving life I'll always love her. ​What doubts distract a lover's mind! That breast, all softness, must prove kind; And she shall yet become my marrow, The lovely beauteous rose of Yarrow.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Scottish Blue Bells

The Scottish Blue Bells.
[Written by the late Charles Doyne Sillery. The Music by George Barke.]
Let the proud Indian boast of his jessamine bowers, His pastures of perfume, and rose-covered dells; While humbly I sing of those wild little flowers, The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
Wave, wave your dark plumes, ye proud sons of the mountain, For brave is the chieftain your prowess who quells, And dreadful your wrath as the foam-flashing fountain, That calms its wild waves 'mid the Scottish blue bells.
Then strike the loud harp to the land of the river, The mountain, the valley, with all their wild spells, And shout in the chorus for ever and ever, The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
Sublime are your hills when the young day is beaming, And green are your groves with their cool crystal wells, And bright are your broadswords, like morning dews gleaming On blue bells of Scotland, on Scottish blue bells.
Awake! ye light fairies that trip o'er the heather, Ye mermaids, arise from your coralline cells, Come forth with your chorus all chanting together, The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
Then strike the loud harp to the land of the river, The mountain, the valley, with all their wild spells, And shout in the chorus for ever and ever, The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Shepherd's Song

The Shepherd's Song.
[Written by Joanna Baillie, and printed, though probably not for the first time, in the Harp of Caledonia, vol. II. published at Glasgow in 1818.]
The gowan glitters on the sward, The lav'rock's in the sky, And Colley on my plaid keeps ward, And time is passing bye. Oh, no! sad an' slow! I hear nae welcome sound; The shadow of our trystin' bush. It wears sae slowly round!
My sheep-bell tinkles frae the west, My lambs are bleating near, But still the sound that I lo'e best, Alack! I canna hear. Oh, no! sad an' slow! The shadow lingers still; And like a lanely ghaist I stand, And croon upon the hill.
I hear below the water roar, The mill wi' clackin' din; And Lucky scolding frae her door, To bring the bairnies in. Oh, no! sad an' slow! These are nae sounds for me; The shadow of our trystin' bush, It creeps sae drearily. ​I coft yestreen frae chapman Tam, A snood of bonnie blue, And promised, when our trystin' cam', To tie it round her brow. Oh, no! sad an' slow! The time it winna pass; The shadow of that weary thorn Is tether'd on the grass.
O now I see her on the way, She's past the witches' knowe; She's climbin' up the brownie's brae— My heart is in a lowe. Oh, no! 'tis na so! 'Tis glaumrie I ha'e seen; The shadow of that hawthorn bush Will move nae mair till e'en.
My book o' grace I'll try to read, Though conn'd wi' little skill; When Colley barks I'll raise my head, And find her on the hill. Oh, no! sad an' slow! The time will ne'er be gane; The shadow of the trystin' bush Is fix'd like ony stane.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Shepherd Boy

The Shepherd Boy.
[Evan M'Coll.—Tune, "Ye banks an' braes o' bonnie Doon."]
The shepherd boy was far away,— His heart was heavy, and his song Was often pour'd at close of day, While cheer'd him thus the rustic throng:— "The maidens here are fair and free, And sweet our heather braes do bloom;" Yet sadly, sweetly still sung he— "Oh! this is not my native home."
"O balmy is the breath of morn, And bright the sun's declining ray, Sweet is the sound of mountain burn, And light the skylark's varied lay; Gay are the lambkins on the lea, And rich our mountain flowers' purfume;" Yet sadly, sweetly still sung he— "Oh! this is not my native home."
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Rose of Allandale

The Rose of Allandale.
[Words by C. Jefferys. Music composed by S. Nelson.]
The morn was fair, the skies were clear, No breath came o'er the sea, When Mary left her Highland cot, And wander'd forth with me; Tho' flowers deck'd the mountain's side, And fragrance fill'd the vale, By far the sweetest flower there, Was the Rose of Allandale.
Where'er I wandered, east or west, Tho' fate began to lour, A solace still was she to me, In sorrow's lonely hour. When tempests lash'd our gallant bark, And rent her shiv'ring sail, One maiden form withstood the storm, 'Twas the Rose of Allandale.
And when my fever'd lips were parch'd On Afric's burning sand, She whisper'd hopes of happiness, And tales of distant land: My life had been a wilderness, Unbless'd by fortune's gale, Had fate not link'd my lot to hers The Rose of Allandale.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Rowan Tree

The Rowan Tree.
[Music arranged by Finlay Dun, and John Thomson.]
Oh, Rowan tree! Oh, Rowan tree! thou'lt aye be dear to me, Intwined thou art wi' mony ties, o' hame and infancy; Thy leaves were aye the first o' spring, thy flow'rs the simmer's pride, There was nae sic a bonnie tree, in a' the countrie side. Oh, Rowan tree! &c.
How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi' a' thy clusters white, How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries red and bright, We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the bairnies round thee ran; They pu'd thy bonnie berries red, and necklaces they strang. Oh, Rowan tree! &c.
On thy fair stem were mony names, which now nae mair I see, But they're engraven on my heart, forgot they ne'er can be! My mother! oh! I see her still, she smil'd our sports to see; Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, wi' Jamie at her knee! Oh, Rowan tree! &c.
Oh! there arose my father's prayer, in holy evening's calm, How sweet was then my mothers voice, in the Martyr's psalm; Now a' are gane! we meet nae mair aneath the Rowan tree, But hallowed thoughts around thee twine o' hame and infancy, Oh, Rowan tree! &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Scotch Blue-bell

The Scotch Blue-bell.
[Alex. Maclagan.—Here first printed.]
The Scotch blue-bell, the Scotch blue-bell, The dear blue-bell for me! O! I wadna gi'e the Scotch blue-bell For a' the flowers I see.
I lo'e thee weel, thou Scotch blue-bell, I hail thee, floweret fair; Whether thou bloom'st in lanely dell, Or waves mid mountain air— Blythe springing frae our bare, rough rocks, Or fountain's flowery brink: Where, fleet as wind, in thirsty flocks, The deer descend to drink. The Scotch blue-bell, &c.
Sweet flower! thou deck'st the sacred nook Beside love's trystin' tree; I see thee bend to kiss the brook, That kindly kisseth thee. 'Mang my love's locks ye're aften seen, Blythe noddin' o'er her brow, Meet marrows to her lovely een O' deep endearin' blue! The Scotch blue-bell, &c.
When e'enin's gowden curtains hing O'er moor and mountain grey, Methinks I hear the blue-bells ring A dirge to deein' day; But when the light o' mornin' wakes The young dew-droucket flowers, I hear amid their merry peals The mirth o' bridal hours! The Scotch blue-bell, &c.
How oft wi' rapture have I strayed The mountain's heather crest, There aft wi' thee ha'e I array'd My Mary's maiden breast:— Oft tremblin' mark'd amang thy bells Her bosom fa' an' rise, Like snawy cloud that sinks an' swells 'Neath summer's deep blue skies. The Scotch blue-bell, &c.
O! weel ye guess, when mornin' daws, I seek the blue-bell grot; And weel ye guess, when e'enin' fa's, Sae sweet, I leave it not,— And when upon my tremblin' breast Reclines my maiden fair, Thou knowst full well that I am blest, And free frae ilka care.
The Scotch blue-bell, the Scotch blue-bell, The dear blue-bell for me! O! I wadna gi'e the Scotch blue-bell For a' the flowers I see.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Scotsman's Farewell

The Scotsman's Farewell.
[John Burns.]
Let me gaze on those mountains, with heath overgrown, 'Mid whose wild flowers I sported, ere sorrow I knew; Let me leave them one tear, ere my bark shall be thrown O'er the wave that may hide them for ever from view!
Though I go to a land as enchanting and fair— That has comforts as many, and troubles as few— Where the heart, all it pants for, as freely may share, And find its attachments as tender and true—
Yet the place of our birth, like our earliest love, To the throb of affection must ever be dear;— And kind, or severe, as our fortune may prove, We look back on that spot—with a smile—or a tear
Oh yes! there's no loadstone that equals our home, Nor magnet so true as the pulse of the heart:— And the mem'ry of boyhood, where'er we may roam, Sheds a ray o'er the mind that will never depart.
Farewell, Caledonia! thou first in contending Against the oppressors of freedom and truth— May I fall like my fathers—thy blessings defending— And sleep 'neath the turf I have trod in my youth!
# The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night/Abou Suweid and the Handsome Old Woman

First-level story, told by Shehrzad (in theory)
ABOU SUWEID AND THE HANDSOME OLD WOMAN.
(Quoth Abou Suweid), I entered a garden one day, I and a company of my friends, to buy somewhat of fruit; and we saw, in a corner of the place, an old woman, who was bright of face, but her hair was white, and she was combing it with a comb of ivory. We stopped before her, but she paid no heed to us neither veiled her face. So I said to her, “O old woman, wert thou to dye thy hair black, thou wouldst be handsomer than a girl. What hinders thee from this?” Night ccccxxiv She raised her head and looking at me with great eyes, recited the following verses:
That which the years had dyed, I dyed erewhen but, sooth to tell, My dye endureth not, whilst that of Time’s perdurable. Clad in the raiment of my youth and beauty, of old days, Proudly I walked, and back and front, men had with me to mell.
“By Allah,” cried I, “bravo to thee for an old woman! How sincere art thou in thy yearning remembrance of sin and how false in thy presence of repentance from forbidden things!”
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night/Aboul Aswed and His Squinting Slave-Girl

First-level story, told by Shehrzad
ABOUL ASWED AND HIS SQUINTING SLAVE-GIRL.
Aboul Aswed bought a native-born slave-girl, who was squint-eyed, and she pleased him; but his people decried her to him; whereat he wondered and spreading out his hands, recited the following verses:
They run her down to me, and yet no fault in her find I, Except perhaps it be a speck she hath in either eye. To compensate this fault, if fault it be, o’ the upper parts She’s slim and heavy of the parts beneath the waist that lie.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The American Democrat/On Individuality

ON INDIVIDUALITY.
Individuality is the aim of political liberty. By leaving to the citizen as much freedom of action and of being, as comports with order and the rights of others, the institutions render him truly a freeman. He is left to pursue his means of happiness in his own manner.
It is a curious circumstance, that, in endeavouring to secure the popular rights, an effect has been produced in this country totally opposed to this main object. Men have been so long accustomed to see ​oppression exercised in the name of one, or in the name of a few, that they have got to consider the sway of numbers as the only criterion of freedom. Numbers, however, may oppress as well as one or a few, and when such oppression occurs, it is usually of the worst character.
The habit of seeing the publick rule, is gradually accustoming the American mind to an interference with private rights that is slowly undermining the individuality of the national character. There is getting to be so much publick right, that private right is overshadowed and lost. A danger exists that the ends of liberty will be forgotten altogether in the means.
All greatness of character is dependant on individuality. The man who has no other existence than that which he partakes in common with all around him, will never have any other than an existence of mediocrity. In time, such a state of things would annihilate invention and paralyze genius. A nation would become a nation of common place labourers.
The pursuit of happiness is inseparable from the claims of individuality. To compel all to follow this object in the same manner, is to oppress all above the average tastes and information. It can only be done at the expense of that which is the aim of liberty.
An entire distinct individuality, in the social state, is neither possible nor desirable. Our happiness is so connected with the social and family ties as to prevent it; but, if it be possible to render ourselves miserable by aspiring to an independence that nature forbids, it is also possible to be made unhappy by a too obtrusive interference with our individuality.
Of all Christian countries, individuality, as connected with habits, is perhaps the most encouraged in England; and of all Christian countries this is the ​one, perhaps, in which there is the least individuality of the same nature. The latter fact would be extraordinary, could it not be referred to the religious discipline that so much influenced the colonists, and which in a measure supplied the place of law. In communities in which private acts became the subject of publick parochial investigation, it followed as a natural consequence, that men lived under the constant corrective of publick opinion, however narrow, provincial, or prejudiced. This feature of the American character, therefore, is to be ascribed, in part, to the fanaticism of our ancestors, and, in part, to the natural tendency in democracies to mistake and augment the authority of the publick.