OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Oriental Scenes, Dramatic Sketches and Tales/Ballad—My castle towers on Severn's side

BALLAD.
My castle towers on Severn's side
 Smile in the summer's sun,
Not brighter flows the silvery tide
 Of thy fair stream, Garonne!
The wild bee murmurs in the bower,
 The deer bounds through the wood,
And gaily blooms the primrose flower
 In that sweet solitude.
I'll hang rich jewels in thine ear  If thou wilt be my bride;
I'll trap thy robe with minever  And broidery beside,
My page shall at thy palfrey stands  And hold its silken rein,
If thou wilt quit thine own fair land
 To cross the foaming main.
Your charms shall gifted minstrels sing
 And vassals bend the knee,
Your welcome through my halls shall ring
 With songs and revelry;
And as the festal board you grace,
 Or lead the joyous dance,
The pleasures round you shall efface
 The thoughts of distant France.
My lineage I will scorn to name
 Though high its boast may be—
I leave the trumpet tongue of fame
 To tell thee my degree;
For I have borne me in the fight
 Through many a toilsome day,
As best becomes an English knight—
 The foremost in the fray.
St. George's banner waves on high
 O'er tower and citadel;
The widow's wail, the orphan's cry,
 The midnight breezes swell.
Then sweet, this scene of sadness leave
 For merry England's coast—
And in my arms forget to grieve
 For all that you have lost.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Divided Burden

THE DIVIDED BURDEN.
I saw a boy who towards his cottage home A heavy burden bore. The way was steep And rocky, and his little loaded arm Strain'd downward to its full extent, while wide The other horizontally was thrown, As if to counterpoise the painful weight That drew him towards the earth.  A while he paused And set his burden down, just where the path Grew more precipitous, and wiped his brow With his worn sleeve, and, panting, breathed long draughts Of the sweet air, while the hot summer sun Flamed o'er his forehead.  But another boy, 'Neath a cool poplar in a neighbouring field, Sat playing with his dog, and from the grass Uprising, with light bound the coppice clear'd, And lent a vigorous hand to share the toil. So on they went together, grasping firm The basket's handle with a right good will; And while their young, clear voices met my ear, I recollected how the Bible said, "Bear one another's burdens," and perceived That to obey God's word was happiness.
Then, as the bee gleans from the humblest flower Sown by the wayside honey for her hive, I treasured up the lesson, and when eve Call'd home the labouring ox, and to its bed Warn'd the young bird, and shut the lily's cup, I took my little boy upon my knee, And told him of the basket-bearer's toil, And of the friend who help'd him.  When his eye Swell'd full and round, and fix'd upon my face, Taking the story to his inmost soul, I said, "My son, be pitiful to all, And aid them when thou canst.  For God hath sown Sweet seeds within us, seeds of sympathy, Whose buds are virtues, such as bloom for heaven.
If thy young sister weepeth, kiss the tear From her smooth cheek, and sooth with tender words Her swelling breast; or if a secret thorn Is in thy brother's bosom, draw it thence; Or if thy playmate sorroweth, lend an ear, And share with sympathy his weight of wo.
And when thou art a man, my little one, Still keep thy spirit open to the ills Of foreigner and stranger, of the race Whom Afric's sun hath darken'd, and of those Poor red-brow'd exiles from our forest shades, Where once they ruled supreme.  Thus shalt thou shun That selfishness which, wrapp'd in its own gifts,
Forgets alike the Giver and the grief Of those who mourn.  So mayst thou ever find Pity and love in thine own time of need, If on thy young heart, as a signet ring, Thou grav'st that motto from a Book Divine, 'Bear one another's burdens, and fulfil The law of Christ.'"
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Elm-trees

THE ELM-TREES.
I do remember me  Of two old elm-trees' shade, With mosses sprinkled at their feet,  Where my young childhood play'd; While the rocks above their head  Frown'd out so stern and gray, And the little crystal streamlet near  Went leaping on its way.
There, side by side, they flourish'd,  With intertwining crown, And through their broad embracing arms  The prying moon look'd down; And I deem'd, as there I linger'd—
 A musing child, alone— She sought my secret heart to scan  From her far silver throne.
I do remember me  Of all their wealth of leaves, When summer, in her radiant loom,  The burning solstice weaves; And how, with firm endurance,  They braved an adverse sky, Like Belisarius, doom'd to meet  His country's wintry eye.
I've roam'd through varied regions,  Where stranger-streamlets run, And where the proud magnolia flaunts  Beneath a southern sun, And where the sparse and stinted pine  Puts forth its sombre form, A vassal to the arctic cloud,  And to the tyrant storm,
And where the pure unruffled lakes  In placid wavelets roll, Or where sublime Niagara shakes  The wonder-stricken soul, I've seen the temple's sculptured pile,  The pencil's glorious art, Yet still those old green trees I wore  Depictured on my heart.
Years fled; my native vale I sought,  Where those tall elm-trees wave; But many a column of its trust  Lay broken in the grave. The ancient and the white-hair'd men,  Whose wisdom was its stay, For them I ask'd, and Echo's voice  Made answer, "Where are they?"
I sought the thrifty matron,  Whose busy wheel was heard When the early beams of morning  Awoke the chirping bird;
Strange faces from her window look'd,  Strange voices fill'd her cot, And, 'neath the very vine she train'd,  Her memory was forgot.
I left a youthful mother,  Her children round her knee, Those babes had risen into men,  And coldly look'd on me; But she, with all her bloom and grace,  Did in the churchyard lie, While still those changeless elms upbore  Their kingly canopy.
Though we, who 'neath their lofty screen  Pursued our childish play, May show amid our sunny locks  Some lurking tints of gray, And though the village of our love  Doth many a change betide, Still do those sacred elm-trees stand,  In all their strength and pride.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Early Blue-bird

THE EARLY BLUE-BIRD.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Greenland Convert

THE GREENLAND CONVERT.
Mid-Winter in the arctic zone,  On Greenland's sterile shore, The frozen bay forgets to moan,  Though wildest tempests roar; No morn the shuddering skies to cheer,  No sun the noon to light, Unpitying darkness, long and drear,  Commingleth day with night.
Close in each subterranean cell  The shivering tenants clung, While snows on snows incessant fell,  And whirlwind banners swung; Around the seal-fed lamp they drew,  That spark of life to fan, Which gleam'd with feeble radiance through  Those effigies of man.
Keen frosts, like subtle serpents, stole  To every secret nook, And from the pulses of the soul  Their lingering fervour took. Dire sounds! the fearful icebergs quake,  The solid rocks are riven, As though opposing thunders spake  Harsh words of war in heaven.
Oppress'd by sorrow's hopeless ban,  In this most dreary place There dwelt a desolated man,  The last of all his race; One daughter, when the rest were dead,  Long with her loving tone Sustain'd his heart, but she had fled,  And he was left alone.
"Beata! in the blissful clime  Where now thy lot is cast, Doth the young floweret reach its prime  Unsmitten by the blast? Is there a sky without a cloud?  An undeclining day? No famine-pang? no icy shroud?  My angel-daughter, say!
Oh, speak once more, with one sweet tone  Confirm the promise blest, Whose spirit hush'd the parting groan  When thou didst sink to rest:" Thus rose amid the rayless gloom  Poor Agusina's moan, As with his lost one in the tomb  He held communion lone.
Oft, in the sacred Book of God,  With tearful toil he sought, Till in his soul affliction's rod  A peaceful moral wrought;
Till humbled at his Saviour's feet  In penitence he lay, And felt his pagan passions fleet  On prayer's soft breath away.
Stern sickness rack'd his aged frame,  Unwonted torpor stole, And death all unresisted came  To claim the ransom'd soul, Which, spreading wide a wondering wing,  With song of triumph past From vengeful winter's sharpest sting,  High o'er the shrieking blast.
Red torches pierced the midnight gloom  As with the dead they hied, And burst Beata's stony tomb  To lay him by her side; The lip so oft her sire that blest,  No filial welcome gave, As brow to brow, and breast to breast,  They fill'd that frost-bound grave.
Strange music mid the funeral rite!  Sad dirges, soft and slow! Whence cometh, in this realm of night,  Such melody of wo? A chapel-bell! Who bids it speak  In this forsaken bourne? And thus, with Sabbath sweetness, break  The trance of those who mourn?
Thou know'st not? Praise to God above!  The meek Moravian band, With all their habitudes of love,  Have dared this fearful land: Hast thou not heard how Greenland's wild,  Her everlasting snows, Beneath their husbandry have smiled,  And blossom'd as the rose?
Their steps these saintly teachers turn'd  To yon sepulchral bed, And o'er their buried convert mourn'd  As for a brother dead; And there, with anthems' holy breath,  With prayers of heavenward trust, They mark'd, as with a living wreath,  Poor Agusina's dust.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Departed Friend

THE DEPARTED FRIEND.
O friend! the light is dead  In thy fair mansion, where in bright array  Love moved with buoyant tread,  And childhood's merry laughter, day by day,  Made the heart glad, and music lent its zest, And hospitable smiles allured the welcome guest.
 And in the holy place  A brow of beautiful and earnest thought,  A form of manly grace,  Are missing; and we gaze with sorrow fraught  Upon that vacant seat where beam'd for years That spirit-speaking eye, the pastor's toil that cheers.
 And from the couch of pain,  The cell of want, a voice hath pass'd away  Which sooth'd the suffering train,  And warn'd the smitten sinful man to pray;  Which, till the verge of life, with accents clear, Told how a Christian's faith the hour of death can cheer.
 O Friend! how great thy gain,  Thus borne in manhood's vigour to the skies,  Ere age or wasting pain  Had chill'd the full fount of thy sympathies,  Those sympathies that still with ardent glow Joy'd at another's joy, or mourn'd for other's wo.
Hast thou embraced them there,  Thy kindred, tenants of yon world of bliss?  Oh say, do angels share  The sympathies so sweetly sown in this?  The nurtured 'neath one roof, one native sky, Meet they with changeless love where every tear is dry?
 Ah! hast thou seen his face  Whom thy young hand with tender zeal did lead  To seek a Saviour's grace?  That brother, who, God's flock ordain'd to feed,  Touch'd with pure lip the altar's living fire, And earlier found his place with Heaven's immortal choir.
 Say, at the pearly gate  Hail'd she thy coming with a fond acclaim;  She who, with hope elate,  Taught thy young lisping tongue the Almighty's name?  And he, whose life closed like a hymn of praise, Thy patriarchal sire, serene and full of days?
 Be silent; ask no more;  Bow in deep reverence to the sacred dead;  No mortal thought may soar  To their high ecstasy, unnamed and dread;  Wait till the temple's veil is rent for thee, And let God's will be thine, heir of eternity.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Departed Pastor

THE DEPARTED PASTOR.
You will not see him more. You whose young thoughts Blent with his image, who to manhood grew Beneath the shelter of his saintly shade, Bringing your tender infants to his hand For the baptismal water, and lived on Amid his teachings, till the silver hairs Came all unlook'd for, stealing o'er your brow, You will not see him more.  There was a place Where, duly as the day of God return'd, His solemn voice held converse with the skies For you and yours, till more than fourscore years Swept in deep billows o'er him. You will hear That voice no more.  There stands his ancient house, Where, with the partner of his heart, he shared Affection's joys so long, and fondly mark'd His children and his children's children rise Clustering around his board.  Remember ye His cordial welcome? how he freely dealt A patriarch's wisdom, in monitions kind To all who sought him? how, with hallow'd grace Of bounteous hospitality, he gave Example of those virtues, pure and sweet,
Which, round the hearth-stone rooting, have their fruit Where men are judged?  He linger'd with you late, Till all the loved companions of his youth Had gone to rest. Yet so he loved your souls, That for their sakes he willingly sustain'd Life's toil and cumbrance, and stood forth alone, An aged oak, amid the fallen grove.
—His Master call'd.  It was the Sabbath morn: And he had girded up his loins to speak A message in the Temple. Time had strown The almond-blossom, and his head was white As snows of winter, yet his step was firm, And in his heart the same unblenching zeal That warm'd his youth.  But, lo! the Master call'd. So, laying down the Bible that he loved, That single weapon he so meek had borne Through all life's tribulation, he gave back The spirit to its Giver, and went home; Yes, full of honours as of days, went home.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Fireside

THE FIRESIDE.
"Say, what have you brought to our own fireside?"  'Twas a mother's voice that spake: "The wintry tempest doth loudly chide, But peace and joy shall with us abide—
 Oh, cherish them for my sake.   "A common stock is our happiness here:  Each heart must contribute its mite The bliss to swell or the pain to cheer; Husband, and son, and daughter dear,  What have you brought to-night?"
Then the studious boy, from his storied page,  Look'd up with a thoughtful eye: That knowledge gleam'd thence which doth charm the sage, And shine like a flame through the frost of age  With warmth and majesty.
A girl was there, like a rose on its stem,  And her sacred song she pour'd: Beauty and music, a blended gem, Shook from their sparkling diadem,  To enrich the evening hoard.
By a pale, sick child was a treasure brought,  The smile of patient trust, For disease had a precious moral wrought, And quiet and pure was her chasten'd thought,  As a pearl by the rude sea nursed.
An infant rose from its cradle-bed,  And clung to the mother's breast, But soon to the knee of its sire it sped— Love was its gift—and the angels said  That the baby's gift was best.
Then the father spake, with a grateful air,  Of the God whom his youth had known; And the mother's sigh of tender care Went up in the shape of a winged prayer,  And was heard before the Throne.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Dying Mother

THE DYING MOTHER.
"How sweet to gaze upon thy placid brow, My child! my child! like some unfolding bud Of stainless snow-drop. Ah, how sweet to catch Thy gentle breath upon my cheek, and feel The bright redundance of thy silken hair, My beautiful first-born. Life seems more fair Since thou art mine. How soon amid its flowers Thy little feet will gambol by my side, My own pet-lamb. And then to train thee up To be an angel, and to live for God— O glorious hope!"  Fast fell the tears of joy As the young mother spake.  But deep within, A foe was busy at the seat of life, And other language than her own fond hopes Was traced by dire disease. A hollow voice In midnight visions warn'd her of the tomb. The surge roll'd heavy, yet there was a Rock On which her soul found rest when the frail flesh Wasted away.  "The cup my Father gives, Shall I not drink it?"  So she bow'd her down, While the new tie that bound her to the earth So tenderly, was cut—then stretch'd her hand
To the Redeemer, whom in days of youth She served and honour'd, and went home—went home.
—And now, Heaven bless thee, babe, whose tiny bark Is launch'd so lonely on this tossing sea Of time and change; and mid thy future course, If here, in our dark clime, thy years unfold, Bind her fair image to thy loving heart, My little one, and let thy father hear From thy young lips the same rejoicing words Of piety and peace, which thrill'd his heart With grateful prayer when at his fireside sat The chosen idol of his early love.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Dying Year

THE DYING YEAR.
Voice of the Dying Year! I hear thy moan, Like some spent breaker of the distant sea, Chafing the fretted rock. Is this the end Of thy fresh morning music, gushing out In promises of hope? Have the bright flush Of Spring's young beauty, crown'd with budding flowers, The passion-vow of Summer, and the pledge Of faithful, fruitful Autumn, come to this? I see thy youngling moon go down the west, The midnight clock gives warning, and its stroke Must be thy death-knell. Is that quivering gasp The last sad utterance of thine agony? I see thy clay-cold fingers try to clasp Some prop-in vain!
 And so thou art no more. No more! Thy rest is with oblivious years Beyond the flood. Yet when the trump shall sound, Blown by the strong archangel, thou shalt wake From the dim sleep of ages. When the tombs That lock their slumbering tenants cleave in twain, Thou shalt come forth. Yea, thou shalt rise again, And I shall look upon thee, when the dead Stand before God. But come not murmuring forth, Unwillingly, like Samuel's summon'd ghost,
To daunt me at the judgment. No; be kind, Be pitiful, bear witness tenderly; And if thou hast a dread account for me, Go, dip thy dark scroll in redeeming blood.
# Not George Washington

Not George Washington
An Autobiographical Novel
By P. G. Wodehouse
and Herbert Westbrook
CONTENTS
Miss Margaret Goodwin’s Narrative
* 1. James Arrives
* 2. James Sets Out
* 3. A Harmless Deception
James Orlebar Cloyster’s Narrative
* 1. The Invasion of Bohemia
* 2. I Evacuate Bohemia
* 3. The Orb
* 4. Julian Eversleigh
* 5.The Column
* 6. New Year’s Eve
* 7. I Meet Mr. Thomas Blake
* 8. I Meet the Rev. John Hatton
* 9. Julian Learns My Secret
* 10. Tom Blake Again
* 11. Julian’s Idea
* 12. The First Ghost
* 13. The Second Ghost
* 14. The Third Ghost
* 15. Eva Eversleigh
* 16. I tell Julian
Sidney Price's Narrative
* 17. A Ghostly Gathering
* 18. One in the Eye
* 19. In the Soup
* 20. Norah Wins Home
Julian Eversleigh's Narrative
* 21. The Transposition of Sentiment
* 22. A Chat with James
* 23. In a Hansom
Narrative Resumed by James Orlebar Cloyster
* 24. A Rift in the Clouds
* 25. Briggs to the Rescue
* 26. My Triumph
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1975, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 48 years or less. 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
# Not All the Sum of Earthly Happiness

This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
# Not George Washington/Part One
## Miss Margaret Goodwin's Narrative

* Chapter 1. James Arrives
* Chapter 2. James Sets Out
* Chapter 3. A Harmless Deception
# Not Attaining to his Desire he complaineth

First printed in Paradyse of Dainty Devices, 1576 and revised in the 1596 edition. Published by Grosart in Miscellanies of the Fuller Worthies' Library, Vol. IV (1872) as "Not Attaining to his Desire he complaineth".
I am not as I seem to be, For when I smile I am not glad; A thrall, although you count me free, I, most in mirth, most pensive sad, I smile to shade my bitter spite As Hannibal that saw in sight His country soil with Carthage town, By Roman force defaced down.   And Caesar that presented was, With noble Pompey’s princely head; As ’twere some judge to rule the case, A flood of tears he seemed to shed; Although indeed it sprung of joy; Yet others thought it was annoy. Thus contraries be used I find, Of wise to cloak the covert mind   I, Hannibal that smile for grief; And let you Caesar's tears suffice; The one that laughs at his mischief; The other all for joy that cries. I smile to see me scorned so, You weep for joy to see me woe; And I, a heart by Love slain dead, Present in place of Pompey s head.   O cruel hap and hard estate, That forceth me to love my foe; Accursed be so foul a fate, My choice for to prefix it so. So long to fight with secret sore And find no secret salve therefore; Some purge their pain by plaint I find, But I in vain do breathe my wind.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Panama Company v. Pigott

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
254 U.S. 552
Panama Company v. Pigott
Argued: Jan. 13, 1921. --- Decided: Jan 24, 1921
Mr. Frank Feuille, of Ancon, Canal Zone, for plaintiff in error.
Mr. Theodore C. Hinckley, of Panama, Republic of Panama, for defendant in error.
Mr. Justice HOLMES delivered the opinion of the Court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Panama Company v. Rock

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
266 U.S. 209
Panama Company v. Rock
Argued: Oct. 6, 1924. --- Decided: Nov 17, 1924
Messrs. Walter F. Van Dame, of Enumclaw, Wash., J. Blanc Monroe, of New Orleans, La., and Albert C. Hindman, of Boise, Idaho, for plaintiff in error.
Mr. Wm. C. Todd, of Cristobal, Canal Zone, for defendant in error.
Mr Justice SUTHERLAND delivered the opinion of the Court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Panama Company v. Bosse

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
249 U.S. 41
Panama Company v. Bosse
Argued: Jan. 31, 1919. --- Decided: March 3, 1919
Messrs. Frank Feuille, of Ancon, Canal Zone, and Jackson H. Ralston and William E. Richardson, both of Washington, D. C., for plaintiff in error.
Messrs. Theodore C. Hinckley, of Panama, Canal Zone, and Joseph W. Bailey, of Washington, D. C., for defendant in error.
Mr. Justice HOLMES delivered the opinion of the Court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Panama Company v. Johnson

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
264 U.S. 375
Panama Company v. Johnson
Argued: Dec. 7, 1923. --- Decided: April 7, 1924
Mr. Richard Reid Rogers, of New York City, for plaintiff in error.
[Argument of Counsel from pages 376-381 intentionally omitted]
Mr. Wade H. Ellis, of Washington, D. C., for defendant in error.
Mr. Justice VAN DEVANTER delivered the opinion of the Court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse