OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems (Sigourney, 1834)/Heaven Brighter than Earth

HEAVEN BRIGHTER THAN EARTH.
"Oh! make Heaven seem brighter than this world." Dying words of the Rev. Mr. Bruen.
Those skies, no night that wear,
 Nor cloud nor tempest know,
Those flowers no blight that bear,
 Those streams that stainless flow—
Are they not brighter far
 Than all that lures us here? Where storms may fright each timid star
 From Midnight's lonely sphere.
Here, Hope of sorrow drinks,
 Here Beauty fades with care,
And Virtue from Temptation shrinks,
 And Folly finds Despair;
But 'mid that world above
 No baneful step may stray,
The white-winged seraph's glance of love
 Would melt each ill away.
Friendship is there the guest
 Of chilling doubt no more,
And Love, with thornless breast,
 Whose pangs and fears are o'er:
There is no farewell sigh
 Throughout that blessed clime,
No mourning voice, nor severed tie,
 Nor change of hoary time.
Why plant the cypress near
 The pillow of the just? Why dew with murmuring tear
 Their calm and holy dust?
Rear there the rose's pride,
 Bid the young myrtle bloom,
Fit emblems of their joys who bide
 Beyond the insatiate tomb.
'Mid that celestial place
 Our soaring thoughts would glow,
Even while we run this pilgrim-race
 Of weariness and woe;
For who would shrink from death
 With sharp and icy hand,
Or heed the pangs of shortening breath,
 To win that glorious land?
# Poems (Sigourney, 1834)/The Last Word of the Dying

THE LAST WORD OF THE DYING.
A christian friend, in the last moments of life, when it was supposed all communication with mortals had ceased—spelt, with her fingers, in the dialect of the deaf and dumb, the word—"Mother."
'Tis o'er!—'Tis o'er!
 That lip of gentle tone
 Doth speak to man no more;
 It hath given the parting kiss
 To him with whom was learned to prove
 The climax of terrestial bliss,
 Deep, and confiding love;
 It hath sighed its last bequest
 On the weeping sister's breast,
 Its work is done.
 The soul doth wait for thee,
 Redeemer!—strong to save
 Thy ransomed from the grave,
 It waiteth to be free.
 Still, on the darkened eye
 It lingereth, wishful to convey
 One message more, to frail mortality,
 Then soar away.
 There is no breath to speak,
 No life-blood in the cheek,
 Listening Love doth strive in vain
 Those pearls of thought to gain,
Which on its upward track
Thus from Heaven's threshold bright, the spirit throweth back.
 But with remembered skill
 The hand interprets still,
 Though speech with broken lyre is faithless to the will,
 Those poor, pale fingers weave with majestic art,
 One last, lone thrilling word to echo through the heart.
 "Mother."
 Oh! yet a moment stay,
 Friend!—Friend!—what would'st thou say?
 What strong emotion with that word doth twine!
 She, whose soft hand did dry thine infant tear,
 Hovereth she now, with love divine
 Thy dying pillow near?
 And is the import of thy sign
 That she is here?
 Faithful to thine extremest need
 Descends she from her blissful sphere,
 With the soft welcome of an angel's reed
 Thy passage through the shadowy vale to cheer?
 Or doth affection's root
 So to earth's soil adhere—
 That thou, in fond pursuit,
 Still turn'st to idols dear?
 Drawest thou the curtain from a cherished scene
 Once more with yearning to survey
 The little student over his book serene,
 The glad one at his play,
 The blooming babe so lately on thy breast
 Cradled to rest—
 Those three fair boys,
Lingers thy soul with them, even from heaven's perfect joys?
Say—wouldst thou teach us thus, how strong a mother's tie?  That when all others fade away,
 Stricken down in mouldering clay,
Springs up with agonizing hold, on vast eternity?  Fain would we hear thee tell,
 But ah!—the closing eye,
 The fluttering, moaning sigh,
 Speak forth the disembodied friend's farewell,
 We toil to break the seal, with fruitless pain,
 Time's fellowship is riven:—earth's question is in vain.
 Yet we shall know
 Thy mistery—thou who unexplained hast fled
 Where secret things are read,
 We after thee shall go
 In the same path of woe
 Down to the dead.
 Oh Christ!—whose changeless trust
 Went with her to the dust,
 Whose spirit free,
 Did shield her from the victor's power,
 Suffer us not, in Death's dread hour
 To fall from Thee.
# Poems (Sigourney, 1834)/The Poet Brainerd

THE POET BRAINERD.
I roved where Thames old Ocean's breast doth cheer,
 Pouring from crystal urn the waters sheen,
 What time dim twilight's silent step was near,
 And gathering dews impearled the margin green;
 Yet though mild autumn with a smile serene
 Had gently fostered Summer's lingering bloom,
 Methought strange sadness brooded o'er the scene,
 While the deep river murmuring on in gloom
Mourned o'er its sweetest bard, laid early in the tomb.
 His soul for friendship formed, sublime, sincere,
 Of each ungenerous deed his high disdain,
 Perchance the world might scan with eye severe;
 Perchance his harp her guerdon failed to gain;
 But Nature guards his fame, for not in vain
 He sang her shady dells, and mountains hoar,
 King Philip's swelling bay repeats his name
 To its lone tower, and with eternal roar
Niagara bears it round to the wide-echoing shore.
 Each sylvan haunt he loved; the simplest flower
 That burns Heaven's incense in its bosom fair,
 The crested billow with its fitful power,
 The chirping nest that wooed a mother's care,
 All woke his worship as some altar rare
 Or sainted shrine doth win the pilgrim's knee;
 And he hath gone to rest where earth and air
Lavish their sweetest charms, while pure and free
Sounds forth the wind-swept harp of his own native sea.
 His country's brave defenders, few and gray,
 By penury stricken, with despairing sighs
 He sang, and boldly woke a warning lay,
 Lest from their graves a withering curse should rise;
 Now near his bed on which the peaceful skies
 And watching stars look down, on Groton's height
 Their monument attracts the traveller's eyes
 Whose souls unshrinking took their martyr-flight
When Arnold's traitor-sword flashed out in fiendish might.
 Youth, with free hand, her frolic germs had sown,
 And garlands clustered round his manly head,
 Those blossoms withered, and he stood alone
 Till on his cheek the blushing hectic fed,
 And o'er his manly brows cold death-dews spread;
 Then in his soul a quenchless star arose
 Whose holy beams their purest lustre shed,
 When the dimmed eye to its last pillow goes,
He followed where it led, and found a saint's repose.
 And now farewell. The rippling stream shall hear
 No more the echo of thy sportive oar,
 Nor the loved group thy father's halls that cheer
 Joy in the magic of thy presence more;
 Long shall their tears thy broken lyre deplore.
 Yet doth thine image warm and deathless dwell
 With those who prize the minstrel's hallowed lore,
 And still thy music, like a treasured spell,
Thrills deep within their sails. Lamented bard, farewell!
# Poems (Sigourney, 1834)/Sudden Death of a Lady

SUDDEN DEATH OF A LADY.
No sound the ear of Midnight heard,
 No ripple woke the stream,
No breath the slumbering rose-leaf stirred
 Nor marred Affection's dream:
On Winter's pavement, sheen and cold,
 There was no echoing tread,
No hand upon the curtain's fold,
 Yet on the Spoiler sped.
The Spoiler Spirit! what sought he
 Within that blissful bower!—
The gold on which Care turns the key
 To thwart the robber's power!
Pale, gleaming pearls that er'st did glow
 Down in the deep, dark seas? The diamond or the ruby? No!
 He came not forth for these.
Morn rose, and sweet the sabbath-bell
 From tower and dell did break,
And with a high and solemn swell
 Glad praise God's temple spake:
But where is she, with form of grace,
 With cheek serenely fair,
Who near God's altar loved the place?
 Go ask the Spoiler where!
Slow Evening veiled yon rifled bower,
 An infant group are there,
Why doth no mother mark the hour
 To hear their murmured prayer?
And why doth grief's unwonted tide
 O'erflow their wondering eye?
They mourn to think their angel-guide
 Should turn from them, and die.
Dear, beauteous babes! On you the morn
 Fresh beams of hope shall pour,
Ye know not from your arms is torn
 What earth can ne'er restore:
Yet one is near, whose widowed breast,
 Whose brow, stern Sorrow's prey,
In lines too strong for speech, attest
 What Death hath borne away.
Love yields the grave its idol-trust,
 While the rent heart-strings bleed,
But Faith, whose pinion scorns the dust,
 Blames not the Spoiler's deed;
A new and tuneful lyre she hears,
 Where joys forever bloom,
And bids us through our blinding tears
 Write blessed on the tomb.
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/July 1916

The Conservative
Contents
The Conservative
Published in the interest of the United Amateur Press Association, and sent free to all Lovers of Literature, and others who desire it, at 598 Angell St., Providence, R.I. by Howard P. Lovecraft.
# Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant/The Arctic Lover

THE ARCTIC LOVER.
Gone is the long, long winter night; Look, my beloved one! How glorious, through his depths of light, Rolls the majestic sun ! The willows, waked from winter's death, Give out a fragrance like thy breath— The summer is begun!
Ay, 'tis the long bright summer day: Hark to that mighty crash! The loosened ice-ridge breaks away— The smitten waters flash. Seaward the glittering mountain rides, While down its green, translucent sides The foamy torrents dash,
See, love, my boat is moored for thee, By ocean's weedy floor— The petrel does not skim the sea More swiftly than my oar. We'll go, where, on the rocky isles, Her eggs the screaming sea-fowl piles Beside the pebbly shore.
"While I, upon his isle of snows, Seek and defy the bear."
Or, hide though where the poppy blows. With wind-flowers frail and fair, While I, upon his isle of snows, Seek and defy the bear. Fierce though he be, and huge of frame, This arm his savage strength shall tame, And drag him from his lair
When crimson sky and flamy cloud Bespeak the summer o'er, And the dead valleys wear a shroud Of snows that melt no more, I'll build of ice thy winter home, With glistening walls and glassy dome, And spread with skins the floor.
The white fox by thy couch shall play ; And, from the frozen skies, The meteors of a mimic day Shall flash upon thine eyes. And I—for such thy vow—meanwhile Shall hear thy voice and see thy smile, Till that long midnight flies.
This work is from the United States and in the public domain because it was not legally published with the permission of the copyright holder before January 1, 2003 and the author died more than 70 years ago. This is a posthumous work and its copyright in certain countries and areas may depend on years since posthumous publication, rather than years since the author's death. Translations or editions published later may be copyrighted.
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
# Constitution of Kenya

* related portals: Kenya
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, news, Wikidata item
    The 1963 Constitution
   * Constitution of Kenya (1963) (as originally enacted)
    The 1969 Constitution
   * Constitution of Kenya (1969) (as originally enacted)
    The 2010 Constitution
   * Constitution of Kenya (2010) (as originally enacted)
# Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant/The Journey of Life

THE JOURNEY OF LIFE.
Beneath the waning moon I walk at night, And muse on human life—for all around Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight, And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground.
And broken gleams of brightness, here and there, Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like air.
The trampled earth returns a sound of fear— A hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs; And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms. A mournful wind across the landscape flies And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs.
And I, with faltering footsteps journey on, Watching the stars that roll the hours away, Till the faint light that guides me now is gone, And, like another life, the glorious day Shall open o'er me from the empyreal height,
With warmth, and certainty, and boundless light.
This work is from the United States and in the public domain because it was not legally published with the permission of the copyright holder before January 1, 2003 and the author died more than 70 years ago. This is a posthumous work and its copyright in certain countries and areas may depend on years since posthumous publication, rather than years since the author's death. Translations or editions published later may be copyrighted.
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 Canterbury Tales

* related portals: English literature
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, quotes, Wikidata item
* The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer (1900), edited by Walter William Skeat (transcription project)
* The Canterbury Tales and Faerie Queene (1870) (transcription project)
* Tales from Chaucer (1870)
* The Canterbury Tales of Geoffrey Chaucer (1914)
* The Canterbury Tales (unsourced)
Poetry:
   * General Prologue
   * The Knight’s Tale
   * The Miller’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Reeve’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Cook’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Man of Law’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Wife of Bath’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Friar’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Summoner’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Clerk’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Merchant’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Squire’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Physician’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Pardoner’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Shipman’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Prioress’ Prologue and Tale
   * Sir Thopas
   * The Tale of Melibee
   * The Monk’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Nun’s Priest’s Tale
   * The Franklin’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Second Nun’s Tale
   * The Canon’s Yeoman’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Manciple’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Parson’s Prologue and Tale
   * The Tale of Gamelyn
# Caroling Dusk/Grass Fingers

GRASS FINGERS
# Surrender

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Surrender"
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item
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.
* "Surrender", a poem by Gertrude Hall Brownell
* "Surrender", a poem by Olive Custance
* "Surrender", a poem by Emily Dickinson
* "Surrender", a poem by Angelina Weld Grimké
* "Surrender", a poem by Robert E. Howard
# Caroling Dusk/Surrender

SURRENDER
# Caroling Dusk/The Ways o' Men

THE WAYS O’ MEN
# Tamerlane and Other Poems (1884)/Index

INDEX.
Ada, 33, 36.
Alexis, 33, 61.
Ambition, 17.
Angora, battle of, 61.
Athenæum, Mr. Ingram's communications to, on Edgar Poe's early poems, 10.
Belgravia, article in, by Mr. Ingram, on "the Unknown Poetry of Edgar Poe," 9, 10, 11, 14.
BelurTaglay, mountains of, 59.
Boston, 3.
Cæsar, 22.
Cowper, motto assigned to, on title-page of Poe's first volume, 8, 15.
Darkness, sound of, the, 37, 61.
Day-flower, the, 37, 62.
Dreams, 43-44.
Edis, shrine of, 27, 60.
Evening Star, 47-48.
Ingram, John H., on the earliest version of "Tamerlane," 9, his work on the text of Poe, ib., preposterous claim advanced by him, 10, misprints of, 11, erroneous statements by, 12, 13, valuable textual emendations suggested by, 14.
Innocent VII., Pope, 59.
Lake, The, 55-56.
Louth, in Lincolnshire, 7, 8.
Martial, the same motto from, quoted by Edgar Poe and by the Tennyson brothers, 8, 18.
North American Review, announcement of publication of Poe's first volume, 13.
Poe, Edgar Allan, his first volume of Poems, 3, 7.
"Poems by Two Brothers," 7, 8.
Rome, 22.
Samarcand, 35, 36, 61.
Shepherd, Richard Herne, 12.
Taglay, 22, 36, 59.
Tamerlane, first form of, 8, 9.
Tartar mythology, 60.
Tartary, 59, 62.
Tennyson, Alfred, his first volume of verse, 7, 8.
Tennyson, Charles, 7, 8.
Thomas, Calvin F. S., printer of Poe's first volume, a very obscure man, 12, 13, 15.
Timur Bek, 35, 61.
Visit of the Dead, 45-46.
Woodberry, George Edward, his letter to the editor on Poe's first volume and Mr. Ingram's misstatements concerning it, 12-13.
Zinghis Khan, 35, 59, 61.
CHISWICK PRESS:—C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.
# To —— (Poe, 1833)

First published: Baltimore Saturday Visiter, May 11, 1833 This poem was first attributed to Poe by John C. French. "Tamerlane," at the end of the poem, refers to the poem Tamerlane
Sleep on, sleep on, another hour —
I would not break so calm a sleep,
To wake to sunshine and to show'r,
To smile and weep.
Sleep on, sleep on, like sculptured thing,
Majestic, beautiful art thou;
Sure seraph shields thee with his wing
And fans thy brow —
We would not deem thee child of earth,
For, O, angelic, is thy form!
But, that in heav'n thou had'st thy birth,
Where comes no storm
To mar the bright, the perfect flow'r,
But all is beautiful and still —
And golden sands proclaim the hour
Which brings no ill.
Sleep on, sleep on, some fairy dream
Perchance is woven in thy sleep —
But, O, thy spirit, calm, serene,
Must wake to weep.
Tamerlane
# Raggedy Ann's Alphabet Book/AB

* is for Ann—just plain  Raggedy Ann She always is smiling as  wide as she can.
* is for Birds with their  sweet cheery song.Proving how happy they  are all day long.
# Tamerlane

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.
* "Tamerlane", a poem by Edgar Allen Poe
* Tamerlane, a play by Nicholas Rowe
# Notes and Queries/Series 1/Volume 1

NOTES AND QUERIES:
A Medium of Inter-Communication FOR LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES, GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."—Captain Cuttle.
VOLUME FIRST.
November, 1849—May, 1850.
LONDON:
GEORGE BELL, 186. FLEET STREET. 1850.
[SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS AND NEWSMEN.]

## Issues

1849 :
| November | 3rd (1) | 10th (2) | 17th (3) | 24th (4) |
| December | 1st (5) | 8th (6) | 15th (7) | 22nd (8) | 29th (9) |
| 1850 ||||||
| January | 5th (10) | 12th (11) | 19th (12) | 26th (13) |
| February | 2nd (14) | 9th (15) | 16th (16) | 23rd (17) |
| March | 2nd (18) | 9th (19) | 16th (20) | 23rd (21) | 30th (22) |
| April | 6th (23) | 13th (24) | 20th (25) | 27th (26) |
| May | 4th (27) | 11th (28) | 18th (29) | 25th (30) |
| Index ||||||
# Tamerlane (Poe)

poem, first published in Tamerlane and other poems (1827)
* Tamerlane, 'Poems written in youth' The Raven and Other Poems. New York: Wiley and Putnam, 1845. p. 74
* Tamerlane, type facsimile (1827) edited by R H Shepherd. Tamerlane and other poems, 1884.
* Tamerlane, unknown source
# Raggedy Ann's Alphabet Book/CD

Crickets and Dwarfies
One night when the Lady Moon peeped over the tall grasses, Johnny Cricket said, “I ’spect I will play a nice, lovely tune on my fiddle.” So he tuned his fiddle, “tinky-tinky” and then began playing, oh, so happily.
“Crickity-creek! Crickity creek! Crickey creek.”
And even little Danny Dwarfie who was only two and a half inches high, heard Johnny’s happy hearted tune, so he took a nice basket of Dwarfie doughnuts with very large holes in them to Mama Doormouse who lived with little David Doormouse near Johnny Cricket’s pea pod home. So, you see, Johnny Cricket’s cherry tunes made everyone’s heart very much happier; for, when one is happy and cheery, their sunniness enters into the hearts of those they meet and makes a joyous glow of friendliness.
* is for Cricket—the  cute little mite Deep down in the  grass plays his  fiddle at night.
* is for Dwarfies, they live in the wood. Dwarfies are helpful and kindly and good.
# Krilof and His Fables/The Hare at the Chase

The Hare at the Chase.
Having united in full force, the beasts captured a bear. They strangled it in the open, and then began to settle among themselves what part each of them should get as his share.
But at this point the Hare, forsooth, clutches the bear's ear.
"Hallo! you squinter there!" they shout at him. "Where on earth have you come from? No one has seen you during the chase."
"Really now, brothers!" answered the Hare. "And who was it, if you please, who drove him out of the wood? Didn't ​I frighten him entirely, and drive him, this dear friend of ours, right afield to you?"
Such bragging was somewhat too palpable, it is true, but it had such an amusing air about it, that the Hare was pre­sented with a morsel of the bear's ear.
[It has often been said that Krilof alluded in this fable to the fact of Austria having joined the Allied Powers after they had overthrown Napoleon, and then demanded her share of the spoil.
But this can scarcely be, as the fable appeared in the sum­ mer of 1813, during the heat of the war for the independence of Germany. It is very probable that subsequently, at the time of the Congress of Vienna, the fable was quoted in re­ ference to the acquisitive tendencies displayed by Austria, and this may have given rise to the idea that Krilof had that Power in view when he wrote it.]
# Krilof and His Fables/The Spider and the Bee

The Spider and the Bee.
A Merchant brought some linen to a fair. That 's a thing everybody wants to buy, so it would have been a sin in the Merchant if he had complained of his sale. There was no keeping the buyers back: the shop was at times crammed full.
Seeing how rapidly the goods went off, an envious Spider was tempted by the Merchant's gains. She took it into her head to weave goods for sale herself, and determined to open a little shop for them in a window corner, seeking thereby to undermine the Merchant's success.
She commenced her web, span the whole night long, and then set out her wares on view. From her shop she did not stir, but remained sitting there, puffed up with pride, and thinking, "So soon as the day shall dawn will all buyers be enticed to me."
Well, the day did dawn. But what then? There came a broom, and the ingenious creature and her little shop were swept clean away.
Our Spider went wild with vexation.
"There!" she cried, "what's the good of expecting a just reward? And yet I ask the whole world—Whose work is the finer, mine or that Merchant's?"
​"Yours, to be sure," answered the Bee. "Who would venture to deny the fact? Every one knew that long ago. But what is the good of it if there 's neither warmth nor wear in it?"
# Krilof and His Fables/The Peasant and the Fox/1

The Peasant and the Fox.
"Tell me, gossip, how is it you have such a passion for stealing fowls?" said a Peasant to a Fox he happened to meet. "I declare I feel quite sorry for you. Listen now; we are alone here, and I will tell you the whole truth. In your way of living there really is not a grain of good to be seen—not to mention that theft is a sin and a shame, and that all the world curses you; and there never is a single day on which you are not afraid, by way of pay­ment for your dinner or supper, of leaving your skin behind you in the poultry-yard. Now, are all the fowls in the world worth this?"
"Who could find such a life endurable?" answered the Fox. "I am so disgusted with everything in it that I find my very food distasteful; and if you only knew how pure I am in heart! But what is one to do? I have wants; I have children. Besides, dear gossip, the thought sometimes comes into my head that, perhaps, I am not the only one in the world who lives by stealing, and yet that profession is to me just as it were a sharp knife stuck into me."
​"Very good," says the Peasant. "If you are really not telling lies, I will save you from sinning, and provide you with honest food. Hire yourself to me to guard my poultry­ yard against the foxes. Who but a fox is likely to know all foxish tricks? And in return for this you shall want for nothing: in my service you will roll like a cheese in butter."
The bargain was struck, and from that very hour the Fox went upon guard. The Fox led a life of abundance at the Peasant's. The Fox grew fuller, the Fox grew fatter, but the Fox did not grow more honest. Food which had not been stolen soon became distasteful to him, and our gossip ended his service by taking advantage of an unusually dark night, and throttling every fowl his dear friend possessed.