OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/July 1918/The Spirit of Summer

The Spirit of Summer.
By H.P. Lovecraft.
Aerial Nymph, whose jocund sway Can melt our vexing cares away, Whose winsome train the valleys bless With perfume, warmth, and loveliness; From fulgent skies once more appear, To spread thy annual gifts of cheer. Lot nimble Naiads cease their sport, And gather wild-flow'rs for thy court, While graceful Sylphs, admiring, lend Their praises as thy feet descend. How mild the zephyrs from afar Fan with sweet breath thy gliding car; How soft the Fauns of yonder grove, Pleas'd with the sight, affirm their love! Nature, rejoicing, hails thy reign, And pleasure fills the grateful plain. Now trip the agile hours in haste, With new delights and comforts grac'd; Though yesterday no bliss could give, Today 'tis joyous just to live! The bright'ning mind of genius glows In warmer verse and livelier prose;
And o'er the dull terrestrial throng Disports a breeze of Teian song. The aureate sun, whose soothing rays Pour languor through the noontide haze, To each green bow'r a charm imparts, And gilds them with enchanting arts. Here may the pensive swain, at rest, Behold, in robes of fancy drest, The fays of air and sea and land, Link'd in a springtly saraband; Old Pan, his brow with myrtles bound, Young Satyrs, leaping o'er the ground, Shy Oreads lur'd from distant hills By melodies of reedy rills, Ethereal Dryads from the wood, And river-gods in festive mood, All fir'd with Corybantian glee To dance, Aerial Nymph, for thee! Gay Goddess, may thy bounteous will Diffuse more lasting treasures still; Nor suffer these glad scenes alone To form the province of thy throne; 'Tis thine in ev'ry heart to plant Thy bliss, a true inhabitant, That through far drearier days than thine, The soul of summer still may shine!
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/July 1918/On Shore

On Shore
By Winifred Virginia Jordan
The trees are wailing, And grim night—a grayling Swoops hawk-like down on The gale-gall’d day.
The sea, ’neath thunder And wolf-winds’ plunder, On wreck-wound shore whacks The writhing spray.
And Oh, my soul’s nearest, My heart’s own dearest, Is out there tonight in A water-logg’d shell!
I can but be praying, ’Neath wind and sea’s flaying, And shut from my ears The Pollock’s Rip bell!
# The Atlantic Monthly/Volume 1/Number 5/The Nest

Featured in Vol 1., No. 5 of The Atlantic Monthly.
THE NEST.
May.
When oaken woods with buds are pink, And new-come birds each morning sing,— When fickle May on Summer’s brink Pauses, and knows not which to fling, Whether fresh bud and bloom again, Or hoar-frost silvering hill and plain,—
Then from the honeysuckle gray The oriole with experienced quest Twitches the fibrous bark away, The cordage of his hammock-nest,— Cheering his labor with a note Rich as the orange of his throat.
High o’er the loud and dusty road The soft gray cup in safety swings, To brim ere August with its load Of downy breasts and throbbing wings, O’er which the friendly elm-tree heaves An emerald roof with sculptured eaves.
Below, the noisy World drags by In the old way, because it must,— The bride with trouble in her eye, The mourner following hated dust: Thy duty, winged flame of Spring, Is but to love and fly and sing.
Oh, happy life, to soar and sway Above the life by mortals led, Singing the merry months away, Master, not slave of daily bread, And, when the Autumn comes, to flee Wherever sunshine beckons thee!
Palinode.—December.
Like some lorn abbey now, the wood Stands roofless in the bitter air; In ruins on its floor is strewed The carven foliage quaint and rare, And homeless wands complain along The columned choir once thrilled with song.
And thou, dear nest, whence joy and praise The thankful oriole used to pour, Swing’st empty while the north winds chase Their snowy swarms from Labrador: But, loyal to the happy past, I love thee still for what thou wash.
Ah, when the Summer graces flee From other nests more dear than thou, And, where June crowded once, I see Only bare trunk and disleaved bough, When springs of life that gleamed and gushed Run chilled, and slower, and are hushed,—
I’ll think, that, like the birds of Spring, Our good goes not without repair, But only flies to soar and sing Far off in some diviner air, Where we shall find it in the calms Of that fair garden ’neath the palms.
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/July 1918/Time and Space

Time and Space
By H.P. Lovecraft
Of the various conceptions brought before the human mind by the advance of Science, what can be compared in strangeness and magnitude with that of eternity and infinity, as presented by modern astronomy? Nothing more deeply disturbs our settled egotism and self-importance, than the realisation of man's utter insignificance which comes with a knowledge of his position in time and space.
Life, or at least life upon our earth and the other planets of the solar system, extends but a little distance, relatively speaking, into the past; for the nebular hypothesis of Laplace can trace the ancestry of the sun and planets to a gaseous, incandescent mass which could under no circumstances support the vital principle. And this condition, removed from us by innumerable years, is obviously but a matter of yesterday as eternity is reckoned. Nor is the future prospect of much greater extent. In a few billion years, a mere second in eternity, the sun and planets must lose the heat bequeathed to them by the parent nebula, and roll black, frozen, and untenanted through ​space. Therefore the very existence of life and thought is but a matter of a moment in unbounded time; the merest incident in the history of the universe. An hour ago we did not exist; in another hour we shall have ceased to be.
Turning to the consideration of infinite space, we are no less paralysed with “thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls.” In our own solar system we discover the apparently boundless earth to be a comparatively small planet, and in the immediate universe we find the entire solar system but an inconsequential molecule. What, then, shall we think when we learn that all that universe is but one of an infinite number of similar star-clusters, only the nearest of which are to be seen from our part of space? And besides all this, we must ever recall that space has no boundary; that the illimitable reaches of vacancy extend endlessly out beyond our sight or comprehension, perhaps beyond the apparently infinite region of the luminiferous ether and beyond control of the laws of motion and gravitation. What mind can venture to depict those remote realms where form, dimensions, matter, and energy may all be subject to undreamt of modifications and grotesque manifestations? All that we know, see, dream, or imagine, is less than a grain of dust in infinity. It is virtually nothing, or at best no more than a mathematical point.
But whilst all these considerations may well serve to diminish the presumption of the petty philosopher, they should not be permitted to discourage humanity in its devotion to the ideals it has always pursued. Life and mankind have their place in the natural plan, however infinitesimal that place may be; and the laws of Nature are too obvious and well-defined to warrant a feeling of futility and unrest. The essential reality and rationality of our aspirations and moral code should, notwithstanding all the revelations of Science, be apparent even to the most thorough materialist.
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/July 1918/Merlinus Redivivus

Merlinus Redivivus
By H.P. Lovecraft
In humanity's age-long struggle for emancipation from the ignoble chains of superstition, no retarding influence has been more potent than that of national distress. The inevitable result of a great war or social crisis, is to cloud the atmosphere for rational perception, to inflame the imagination beyond the realm of calm analysis, and to give unbounded licence to untrustworthy impressions, superficial doctrines, antiquated fallacies, distorted coincidences, psychopathic delusions, and irresponsible thoughts to which wishes alone are the fathers.
​Throughout the war-torn world there is now being born a more dangerous and degrading era of superstition than history records tor many centuries past. Excited by a wild desire to communicate with the vast numbers of the honoured dead; rebellious against the thought that these splendid souls are totally lost to the earth; the public have turned with the irrationality of deep grief to the hoary frauds and delusions of cruder ages, and have lent willing ears to the charlatans and ecdentrics whose claims of spiritualistic insight are normally dismissed with a smile.
Amongst the uneducated, an atavistical relapse of this sort was but natural. We do not marvel at the legends of the Marns where the shades of our old English bowmen are said to have come to the assistance of the army and saved the day: or of Mons, where angels are reputed to have battled on the side of right against the Hun. These, and the usual mediumistic nonsense and amulet-wearing of the ignorant, were to be expected. But we do marvel at the extent to which the scientific perspective of supposedly wiser classes has become distorted.
Spiritualism, whose adherents now number many former men of science who should know better, is a frank surrender of judgment to vague subjective impressions. None knows better than the sober psychologist how vivid some apparently occult manifestations may be to contain types of persons; yet the sober thinker can see further than the spiritualist, and can analyse the phenomena, tracing them to a material cause in the consciousness of the subject.
The prime obstacle to truth in this struggle, is the will. Overpowered by a desire to believe in the supernatural, men are everywhere ignoring patent scientific principles and encroaching upon borderlands where evidence is highly coloured with illusion. Against common sense is arrayed a flimsy mass of dream-stuff which under ordinary conditions would be laughed out of court.
Were mental communication really possible, or the dead able to make themselves known to the living, it is safe to state that the world would be a very different place. Secrecy would be non-existent, and death would be no mystery. In fact, the very rarity and frivolity of alleged spiritual messages are enough to condemn them as frauds or hallucinations.
However general may be the relapse of the world into mediæval credulity, it is to be hoped that Anglo-Saxon sense and conservatism may exempt our particular realm from so pitiable an intellectual debacle.
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/July 1918/The Prodigal

The Prodigal
By Ernest Lionel McKeag, R. N. R.
On an African desert, remote and far-reaching, In a region of heat where the sun ever burns, The half-buried bones of a trav’ler lie bleaching— He has gone to that bourn whence no mortal returns.
Midst a fair English garden where robins are mating, In a cottage with roses abloom by the door, A weary-eyed mother is waiting, ay, waiting, For the prodigal son she will gaze on no more.
# A Handbook of Phrenotypics for Teachers and Students/Remembering, Recollecting

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REMEMBERING, RECOLLECTING.
What people call remembering or recollecting, is nothing but the springing up of notions before the mind, which are exactly similar to those that did stand before the same mind on some former occasion; e. g.—
​We say we remember, or we recollect, the name of such a person, the date of such a fact, the symtom of such a malady, the medicinal property of such a plant, the English meaning of such a foreign word, the movement of such an army, the geographical or topographical position of such an object, &c. &c.—when that name, that date, that diagnostic symptom, that medicinal property, that English meaning, that movement, &c. &c., do, when wanted, spring up before the mind exactly similar to those that did stand before the same mind on some former occasion.
By the expression, when wanted, I mean when the respective person, fact, malady, plant, &c., is given.
# A Handbook of Phrenotypics for Teachers and Students/Noticing

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NOTICING.
When a number of notions strike simultaneously our senses, we are not always aware of all of them; we notice some of these notions in preference to others;—e.g. When several individuals gaze from London Bridge upon a certain spot of the Thames, all the thousands of notions which cover that spot will paint themselves upon each of the living retinas, and exert an influence through the optic nerves upon all the brains standing upon the bridge; but not all these notious will be equally noticed by each individual brain: one will notice nothing but smoke and paddle-wheels; he will declare that ​there were neither ladies nor musicians; another will, on the contrary, notice ladies in preference to smoke and paddle-wheels; a third, perhaps, will have seen neither smoke, paddle-wheels, nor ladies; he was particularly struck with the presence of a Spanish cat, or English dog, &c. &c.
The noticing some notions in preference to others, will depend upon a variety of circumstances, which would be too long, and besides not indispensably necessary, to be enumerated here; suffice that some notions are noticed, and others are not, although, in reality, they do all stand stubbornly before the senses. And so it is with regard to notions that spring up and stand before the inagination; some of them are noticed, and some of them are not;—e.g. the notion of the pen with which I am writing makes jump up before my mind the person of the stationer of whom I bought it, and also the shelves that were behind him; but I must not suppose that this notion, my pen, has brought before my imagination nothing else besides the stationer and his shelves; the notion, my pen, has, in reality, brought before my imagination a host of notions, but I have not noticed them all. I have noticed the stationer and his shelves in preference to all the rest: this preference will depend upon a variety of circumstances, which would be too long, and besides not indispensably necessary, to be enumerated here—suffice it to know that some of the sprung​-up notions are noticed, and others are not, although in reality they do all stand stubbornly before the imagination.
That all the notions that stand before the eye in the same field of vision do all paint themselves upon the retina, although they are not all noticed, has been proved by absolute physical experiments—(artificial eyes, camera obscura, the daguerreotype, &c.:) but that there are notions jumped up, and standing before the eye of the imagination, besides those noticed by us, is, I acknowledge, an hypothesis of my own; an hypothesis which I wish to be believed, relied, and acted upon, for the following reasons:—
* It cannot be proved to be false.
* It has analogy from the external senses in its favor; and above all,
* It serves, as we shall see hereafter, a useful purpose.
# A Handbook of Phrenotypics for Teachers and Students/Committing to Memory

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COMMITTING TO MEMORY.
The committing to memory languages, sciences, and arts, although it does include various and numberless tasks, is, however, always reducible to one and the same but variously modified problem, viz.—Having agreed upon it that certain two notions ​should always follow one another, we want to make it sure that whenever one of these two notions shall be presented to our brain, the other notion should immediately spring up before the same brain;—e.g. Having agreed upon it, that the name of the discoverer of the principles of attraction is Newton, or, in other words, having agreed upon it that the two notions, viz. (a) the discoverer of the principles of attraction, and (b) Newton should always follows one another, we want to connect these two notions so strongly together, that whenever the notion (a) is given, the notion (b) should immediately spring up before the imagination, and vice versa.
Having agreed upon it that Demosthenes died 313 b.c., we wish to connect the notion (a), death of Demosthenes, with (b) 313 b.c. so strongly, that whenever (a) is given, (b) should spring up before the imagination, and vice versa.
Having agreed upon it, that the principal symptom of Amaurosis is immovableness of the iris, we wish to connect these two notions so strongly that whenever, &c.
Having agreed upon it that the principal medical property of opium is narcotic, we wish to connect these two notions so strongly that whenever, &c.
Having agreed upon it that lux means light, we wish to connect these two notions so strongly, &c.
​Having agreed upon it that the strategical and tactical movement of the Prussian army at the battle of Waterloo was a movement on the right flank of Napoleon, we wish to connect these two notions so strongly, &c.
And so on through the whole chain of human studies, be they those of languages, sciences, or arts. Each indiviual study consists of a greater or less number of such couples to be made indissolubly to stick together.
The process, then, of committing to memory and recollecting, consists of the following three stages:—
* It must be agreed upon which two notions should always follow one another.
* The two notions of the thus agreed upon couple must be stuck together, and impressed upon the brain; and,
* One of these two notions must be given, in order that the other may spring up before the imagination.
These three conditions are all and each indispensable for the process of memory.
# Jersey Journal/1986/Leah M. Winblad

Leah Maria Way (1901-1986) in the Jersey Journal on March 10, 1986.
Leah M. Winblad
Leah M. Winblad, 84, a Toms River resident, died Saturday in Community Memorial Hospital, Toms River. A former resident of Manchester, she was born in Jersey City. She was a secretary for 24 years for Waterman's Ink Inc., New York City, retiring in 1952. She was a member of Christ Lutheran Church, Whiting. Services will be held at 10 am Wednesday in Anderson and Campbell Funeral Home, Whiting. Burial will be in George Washington Memorial Park, Paramus.
This work is ineligible for copyright and therefore in the public domain, because it consists entirely of information that is common property and contains no original authorship.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Songs of the Workers (9th edition)/A. F. of L. Sympathy

A. F. OF L. SYMPATHY.
By B. L. Weber
(Tune: "All I Got Was Sympathy.")
Bill Brown was a worker in a great big shop, Where there worked two thousand others; They all belonged to the A. F. of L., And they called each other "brothers." One day Bill Brown's union went out on strike, And they went out for higher pay; All the other crafts remained on the job, And Bill Brown did sadly say:
CHORUS:
All we got was sympathy; So we were bound to lose, you see; All the others had craft autonomy, Or else they would have struck with glee But I got good and hungry, And no craft unions go for me. Gee! Ain't it hell, in the A. F. of L. All you get is sympathy.
Bill Brown was a thinker, and he was not a fool, And fools there are many, we know. So he decided the A. F. of L. And its craft divisions must go. Industrial Unions are just the thing, Where the workers can all join the fight; So now on the soap box boldly he stands, A singing with all of his might:
CHORUS:
There are but two nationalities, a nation of Masters, and a nation of Slaves.
One active agitating worker in the industry, is worth a dozen in the jungle.
One Big Union, One Enemy—The Boss.
# Songs of the Workers (9th edition)/Workers of the World, Awaken

WORKERS OF THE WORLD, AWAKEN!
By Joe Hill.
Workers of the world, awaken! Break your chains, demand your rights. All the wealth you make is taken By exploiting parasites. Shall you kneel in deep submission From your cradles to your graves? Is the height of your ambition To be good and willing slaves?
CHORUS:
Arise, ye prisoners of starvation! Fight for your own emancipation; Arise, ye slaves of every nation! In One Union grand. Our little ones for bread are crying, And millions are from hunger dying; The means the end is justifying, 'Tis the final stand.
If the workers take a notion, They can stop all speeding trains; Every ship upon the ocean They can tie with mighty chains. Every wheel in the creation, Every mine and every mill, Fleets and armies of the nation, Will at their command stand still.
Join the union, fellow workers, Men and women, side by side; We will crush the greedy shirkers Like a sweeping, surging tide; For united we are standing, But divided we will fall; Let this be our understanding— "All for one and one for all."
Workers of the world, awaken! Rise in all your splendid might; Take the wealth that you are making, It belongs to you by right.
No one will for bread be crying, We'll have freedom, love and health. When the grand red flag is flying In the Workers' Commonwealth.
# Songs of the Workers (9th edition)/The Red Flag

THE RED FLAG.
By James Connell.
The workers' flag is deepest red, It shrouded oft, our martyred dead; And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold Their life blood dyed its every fold.
CHORUS:
Then raise the scarlet standard high Beneath its folds, we'll live and die, Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer, We'll keep the red flag flying here.
Look 'round the Frenchman loves its blaze The sturdy German chants its praise; In Moscow's vaults, its hymns are sung, Chicago swells its surging song.
It waved above our infant might When all ahead seemed dark as night; It witnessed many a deed and vow, We will not change its color now.
It suits today, the meek and base Whose minds are fixed on pelf and place; To cringe beneath the rich man's frown, And haul that sacred emblem down.
With heads uncovered, swear we all, To bear it onward till we fall; Come dungeons dark, or gallows grim, This song shall be our parting hymn!
# Songs of the Workers (9th edition)/The Internationale

THE INTERNATIONALE.
By Eugene Pottier.
(Translated by Charles H. Kerr.)
Arise, ye prisoners of starvation! Arise, ye wretched of the earth, For justice thunders condemnation, A better world's in birth. No more tradition's chains shall bind us, Arise, ye slaves; no more in thrall! The earth shall rise on new foundations, We have been naught, we shall be all.
REFRAIN
'Tis the final conflict. Let each stand in his place, The Industrial Union Shall be the human race.
We want no condescending saviors, To rule us from a judgment hall; We workers ask not for their favors; Let us consult for all. To make the thief disgorge his booty To free the spirit from its cell, We must ourselves decide our duty, We must decide and do it well.
The law oppresses us and tricks us, Wage systems drain our blood; The rich are free from obligations, The laws the poor delude. Too long we've languished in subjection, Equality has other laws; "No rights," says she, "without their duties, No claims on equals without cause."
Behold them seated in their glory, The kings of mine and rail and soil! What have you read in all their story, But how they plundered toil?
Fruits of the workers' toil are buried In the strong coffers of a few; In working for their restitution The men will only ask their due.
Toilers from shops and fields united, The union we of all who work; The earth belongs to us, the workers, No room here for the shirk. How many on our flesh have fattened! But if the noisome birds of prey Shall vanish from the sky some morning, The blessed sunlight still will stay.