OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Book of Scottish Song/Wattle's the waur o' the wear

Wattle’s the waur o’ the wear.
[Tune, "Fy let us a' to the bridal."]
On Tysday gaun out i' the e'enin' Amang the green woodlands alane, I heard a fair maid complainin' An' making a pityfu' maen, An' this was the mournfu' occasion, The source o' the saut gushin' tear, An' burden o' her lamentation, "Auld Wattie's the waur o' the wear."
Ye birds in the green woodlands singing, Ye shepherds o' dark ravin' Dee, Ye rocks and ye wild echoes ringing, Ye cleughs fu' o' gladness an' glee; ​Owre Jeanie's sad fate dinna swagger, Your music delights na her ear, It sends to her heart like a dagger, "Auld Wattie's the waur o' the wear."
My daddy for luve o' the tocher, Ga'e sour-gabbit grey-beard his Jean, The body dow naething but clochar, An' grane like a brownie at e'en; His jaws canna chow a saft bannock, He growls like a Norawa bear, The verra weans cry through the winnock, "Auld Wattie's the waur o' the wear."
Gley'd Gibbie thraws on his grey jacket, It kivers a rukle o' banes, An' lilts awa' hame like a cricket, An' craws owre his cleckin' o' weans. An' lingle-tall'd Tibbie, their mither, Ca's him baith her joy an' her dear, Gude sen' Josie Tait an' his tether, For Wattie's the waur o' the wear.
Now wae to the weary psalm-lelter, Wha thrice i' the kirk fill't my e'e, An' wae to the haly sin-pelter, Wha kippl't the carl to me. An' wae to the grey colt that carry't The sorrowfu' bride o' Troqueer, An' dool to the day I was marry't To Wattie the waur o' the wear.
# The Book of Scottish Song/We'll go to sea no more

We'll go to sea no more.
[From the "Odd Volume—Second Series," by the Misses Corbet.]
Oh! blythly shines the bonnie sun Upon the Isle of May, And blythly comes the morning tide Into St. Andrew's bay; Then up, gudeman—the breeze is fair; And up my braw bairns three,— There's goud in yonder bonnie boat That sails so well the sea! When haddocks leave the Firth of Forth, And mussels leave the shore; When oysters climb up Berwick Law, We'll go to sea no more, No more, We'll go to sea no more.
I've seen the waves as blue as air, I've seen them green as grass; But I never feared their heaving yet From Grangemouth to the Bass. I've seen the sea as black as pitch, I've seen it white as snow; ​But I never feared its foaming yet. Though the winds blew high or low. When squalls capsize our wooden walls, When the French ride at the Nore, When Leith meets Aberdour half-way. We'll go to sea no more, No more, Well go to sea no more.
I never liked the landsman's life, The earth is aye the same; Gi'e me the ocean for my dower, My vessel for my hame. Gi'e me the fields that no man ploughs, The farm that pays no fee; Gi'e me the bonnie fish that glance So gladly through the sea. When sails hang flapping on the masts, Though, through the waves we snore; When in a calm we're tempest tost, We'll go to sea no more, No more, We'll go to sea no more.
The sun is up, and round Inchkeith, The breezes saftly blaw; The gudeman has the lines on board,— Awa', my bairns, awa'! And ye'll be back by gloaming gray, And bright the fire will low; And in our tales and sangs we'll tell How weel the boat ye row.— When life's last sun gangs feebly down, And death comes to our door— When a' the warld's a dream to us, We'll go to sea no more, No more, We'll go to sea no more.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Waly, Waly

Waly, Waly.
[This deeply pathetic song is of undoubted antiquity, but nothing satisfactory can be told regarding its history. According to some accounts, the subject of it is said to have been Lady Barbara Erskine, wife of the second marquis of Douglas, who, in 1670, was abandoned by her husband on account of some scandal, but this is extremely apocryphal, as the song is clearly the lamentation of a forsaken girl, not a wife.]
O waly, waly up the bank, And waly, waly down the brae, And waly, waly yon burn-side, Where I and my love wont to gae! I lean'd my back unto an aik, I thoucht it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak: Sae my true love did lichtlie me.
O waly, waly, but love be bonnie A little time while it is new; But when it's auld it waxes cauld, And fades away like the morning dew. O wherefore should I busk my heid, Or wherefore should I kame my hair? For my true love has me forsook, And says he'll never love me mair.
Now Arthur's Scat shall be my bed, The sheets shall ne'er be press'd by me, St. Anton's Well shall be my drink, Since my true love has forsaken me. Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves aff the tree? O, gentle death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I am wearie. ​'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry: But my lore's heart's grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow toun, We were a comely sicht to see; My love was clad in the black velvet, And I mysel' in cramasie.
But had I wist, before I kiss'd, That love had been sae ill to win, I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold, And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. Oh, oh! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee, Aud I myself were dead and gane, And the green grass growing over me!
# The Book of Scottish Song/We've drunk to them

We’ve drunk to them.
[John Imlah.]
We've drunk to them that's here about, We've drunk to them that's far awa', But fill again, there's ane, nae doubt, We yet could drink abune them a', Wha drinks—and deep—fair be his fa', On him that winna, meikle shame, As round and round the cup we ca', A health to her—we needna name!
I gi'e you joy, wha ha'e found grace, Wi' ane that's comely, kind, and true! I feel for you—I ken the case— Whom some fair thief o' hearts gars rue, Though nocht you say, and swear, and do, Can wauk in her's the tender flame, Yet we're forgiving when we're fou— Here's health to her—whate'er her name!
O! wearie fa' the womankind, They've been, sin' first the warld began, O' winning mien—and wayward mind, The blessing or the bane o' man; Yet after a', do what we can, The bonnie dears we canna blame; Sae a benison gae wi' our ban, And the wish that some would bear our name!
Auld Adam led a wearie life Till Eve, in Eden's bonnie bowers, Was made the first o' men's gudewife— The fairest o' the garden's flowers; Though dearly bought, the social hours, Wi' dool and death—wi' sin and shame— We think them cheap, when pass we ours Wi' her we'll drink—but daurna name.
The waukrife cock fu' loudly craws, The merry morn begins to blink, And troth, it's time to wear our wa's When folk begin to lisp and wink. Whate'er we thole, whate'er we think, In this we'll do and say the same, We'll brim the bowl, and deep we'll drink A health to her—that each could name!
# The Complaint: or Night-Thoughts on Life, Death, & Immortality/Night IV

NIGHT the FOURTH.
THE
Christian Triumph.
Containing
Our only Cure for the FEAR of DEATH,
And Proper Sentiments of Heart on that Inestimable Blessing.
Humbly Inscribed
To the Hon$^{ble}$ Mr. YORKE.
# The Complaint: or Night-Thoughts on Life, Death, & Immortality/Night I

THE
COMPLAINT.
NIGHT the FIRST.
ON
Life, Death, and Immortality.
Humbly Inscribed
To the Right Honourable
Arthur Onslow, Esq;
Speaker of the House of Commons.
# The Complaint: or Night-Thoughts on Life, Death, & Immortality/Night II

NIGHT the SECOND.
ON
Time, Death, Friendship.
Humbly Inscribed
To the Right Honourable
The Earl of Wilmington.
# The Complaint: or Night-Thoughts on Life, Death, & Immortality/Preface

PREFACE.
AS the Occasion of this Poem was real, not fictitious; so the method pursued in it, was rather imposed, by what spontaneously arose in the author's mind, on that occasion, than meditated, or designed. Which will appear very probable from the nature of it. For it differs from the common mode of Poetry, which is from long narrations to draw short morals. Here, on the contrary, the narrative is short, and the morality arising from it makes the bulk of the Poem. The reason of it is, That the facts mentioned did naturally pour these moral reflections on the thought of the writer.
Layout 2
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/XII Sister

XII
Annisquam,
20th August, 1894.
Dear Sister,
Your very kind letter duly reached me at Annisquam. I am with the Bagleys once more. They are kind as usual. Professor Wright was not here. But he came day before yesterday and we have very nice time together. Mr. Bradley of Evanston, whom you have met at Evanston, was here. His sister-in-law had me sit for a picture several days and had painted me. I had some very fine boating and one evening overturned the boat and had a good drenching — clothes and all.
I had very very nice time at Greenacre. They were all so earnest and kind people. Fanny Hartley and Mrs. Mills have by this time gone back home I suppose.
From here I think I will go back to New York. Or I may go to Boston to Mrs. Ole Bull. Perhaps you have heard of Mr. Ole Bull, the great violinist of this country. She is his widow. She is a very spiritual lady. She lives in Cambridge and has a fine big parlour made of woodwork brought all the way from India. She wants me to come over to her any time and use her parlour to lecture. Boston of course is the great field for everything, but the Boston people as quickly take hold of anything as give it up; while the New Yorkers are slow, but when they get hold of anything they do it with a mortal grip.
I have kept pretty good health all the time and hope to do in the future. I had no occasion yet to draw on my reserve, yet I am rolling on pretty fair. And I have given up all money-making schemes and will be quite satisfied with a bite and a shed and work on.
I believe you are enjoying your summer retreat. Kindly convey my best regards and love to Miss Howe and Mr. Frank Howe.
Perhaps I did not tell you in my last how I slept and lived and preached under the trees and for a few days at least found myself once more in the atmosphere of heaven.
Most probably I will make New York my centre for the next winter; and as soon as I fix on that, I will write to you. I am not yet settled in my ideas of remaining in this country any more. I cannot settle anything of that sort. I must bide my time. May the Lord bless you all for ever and ever is the constant prayer of your ever affectionate brother,
Vivekananda.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/XIV Alasinga

XIV
U. S. A, 21st September, 1894.
Dear Alasinga,
. . . I have been continuously travelling from place to place and working incessantly, giving lectures, holding classes, etc.
I have not been able to write yet for my proposed book. Perhaps I may be able to take it in hand later on. I have made some nice friends here amongst the liberal people, and a few amongst the orthodox. I hope to return soon to India — I have had enough of this country and especially as too much work is making me nervous. The giving of too many public lectures and constant hurry have brought on this nervousness. I do not care for this busy, meaningless, money-making life. So you see, I will soon return. Of course, there is a growing section with whom I am very popular, and who will like to have me here all the time. But I think I have had enough of newspaper blazoning and humbugging of a public life. I do not care the least for it. . . .
There is no hope for money for our project here. It is useless to hope. No large number of men in any country do good out of mere sympathy. The few who really give money in the Christian lands often do so through priestcraft and fear of hell. So it is as in our Bengali proverb, "Kill a cow and make a pair of shoes out of the leather and give them in charity to a Brahmana". So it is here, and so everywhere; and then, the Westerners are miserly in comparison to our race. I sincerely believe that the Asians are the most charitable race in the world, only they are very poor.
I am going to live for a few months in New York. That city is the head, hand, and purse of the country. Of course, Boston is called the Brahmanical city, and here in America there are hundreds of thousands that sympathise with me. . . . The New York people are very open. I will see what can be done there, as I have some very influential friends. After all, I am getting disgusted with this lecturing business. It will take a long time for the Westerners to understand the higher spirituality, Everything is £. s. d. to them. If a religion brings them money or health or beauty or long life, they will all flock to it, otherwise not. . . .
Give to Balaji, G. G., and all of our friends my best love.
Yours with everlasting love, Vivekananda.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/XIX Vehemia

XIX
Washington, 23rd October, 1894.
Dear Vehemia Chand Limbdi,
I am going on very well in this country. By this time I have become one of their own teachers. They all like me and my teachings.... I travel all over the country from one place to another, as was my habit in India, preaching and teaching. Thousands and thousands have listened to me and taken my ideas in a very kindly spirit. It is the most expensive country, but the Lord provides for me everywhere I go.
With my love to you and all my friends there (Limbdi, Rajputana).
Yours, Vivekananda.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/XLIV Mrs. William Sturges

XLIV
Thousand Island Park, 29th (July?), 1895.
A glorious time to you, dear Mother and I am sure this letter will find you in all health. Many thanks for the $50 you sent; it went a long way.
We have had such a nice time here. Two ladies came up all the way from Detroit to be with us here. They are so pure and good. I am going from the Thousand Island to Detroit and thence to Chicago.
Our class in New York is going on, and they have carried it bravely on, although I was not there.
By the by, the two ladies who have come from Detroit were in the class, and unfortunately were mighty frightened with imps and other persons of that ilk. They have been taught to put a little salt, just a little, in burning alcohol, and if there is a black precipitate, that must be the impurities showing the presence of the imps. However, these two ladies had too much fright from the imps. It is said that these imps are everywhere filling the whole universe. Father Leggett must be awfully downcast at your absence, as I did not hear from him up to date. Well, it is better to let grief have its way. So I do not bother him any more.
Aunt Joe Joe must have had a terrible time at sea. All is well that ends well.
The babies must be enjoying their stay in Germany very much. My shiploads of love to them.
We all here send you love, and I wish you a life that will be like a torch to generations to come.
Your son, Vivekananda.

## Notes

* ↑ Mrs. William Sturges.
* ↑ Hollister and Alberta — then at school in Germany.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/XLIII Alasinga

XLIII
U. S. A., 1st July, 1895.
Dear Alasinga,
I received your missionary book and the Ramnad photos. I have written to the Raja as well as the Dewan at Mysore. The missionary pamphlet must have reached here long ago, as the Ramabai circle controversy with Dr. Janes savoured of it, it seems. Now you need not be afraid of anything. There is one misstatement in that pamphlet. I never went to a big hotel in this country, and very few times to any other. At Baltimore, the small hotels, being ignorant, would not take in a black man, thinking him a negro. So my host, Dr. Vrooman, had to take me to a larger one, because they knew the difference between a negro and a foreigner. Let me tell you, Alasinga, that you have to defend yourselves. Why do you behave like babies? If anybody attacks your religion, why cannot, you defend it? As for me, you need not be afraid, I have more friends than enemies here, and in this country one-third are Christians, and only a small number of the educated care about the missionaries. Again, the very fact of the missionaries being against anything makes the educated like it. They are less of a power here now, and are becoming less so every day. If their attacks pain you, why do you behave like a petulant child and refer to me? . . . Cowardice is no virtue.
Here I have already got a respectable following. Next year I will organise it on a working basis, and then the work will be carried on. And when I am off to India, I have friends who will back me here and help me in India too; so you need not fear. So long as you shriek at the missionary attempts and jump without being able to do anything, I laugh at you; you are little dollies, that is what you are. . . . What can Swami do for old babies!!
I know, my son, I shall have to come and manufacture men out of you. I know that India is only inhabited by women and eunuchs. So do not fret. I will have to get means to work there. I do not put myself in the hands of imbeciles. You need not worry, do what little you can. I have to work alone from top to bottom. . . . "This Âtman (Self) is not to be reached by cowards." You need not be afraid for me. The Lord is with me, you defend yourselves only and show me you can do that; and I will be satisfied. Don't bother me any more with what any one says about me. I am not waiting to hear any fool's judgment of me. You babies, great results are attained only by great patience, great courage, and great attempts. . . . Kidi's mind is taking periodic somersaults, I am afraid. . . .
The brave alone do great things, not the cowards. Know once for all, you faithless ones, that I am in the hands of the Lord. So long as I am pure and His servant, not a hair of my head will be touched. . . . Do something for the nation, then they will help you, then the nation will be with you. Be brave, be brave! Man dies but once. My disciples must not be cowards.
Ever yours with love, Vivekananda.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/XLII Kidi

XLII
19 W 38th St., New York
22nd June, 1895.
Dear Kidi,
I will write you a whole letter instead of a line. I am glad you are progressing. You are mistaken in thinking that I am not going to return to India; I am coming soon. I am not giving to failures, and here I have planted a seed, and it is going to become a tree, and it must. Only I am afraid it will hurt its growth if I give it up too soon. . . .
Work on, my boy. Rome was not built in a day. I am guided by the Lord, so everything will come all right in the end.
With my love ever and ever to you,
Yours sincerely, Vivekananda.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/XLI Friend

XLI
C/O Miss Dutcher, Thousand Island Park, N.Y., 18th June, 1895.
Dear Friend, (Mr. F. Leggett)
A letter reached me from Mrs. Sturges the day before she left, including a cheque for $50. It was impossible to make the acknowledgement reach her the next day; so I take this opportunity to ask you the favour of sending her my thanks and acknowledgement in your next to her.
We are having a nice time here except, as an old Hindu proverb says, that "a pestle must pound even if it goes to heaven". I have to work hard all the same. I am going to Chicago in the beginning of August. When are you starting?
All our friends here send their respects to you. Hoping you all bliss and joy and health, and ever praying for the same.
I remain, yours affectionately, Vivekananda.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/XLVIII Friend

XLVIII
C/O Miss Dutcher, Thousand Island Park, N. Y. 31st July, 1895.
Dear Friend,
I wrote you before this a letter, but as I am afraid it was not posted carefully, I write another.
I shall be in time before the 14th. I shall have to come to New York before the 11th anyway. So there will be time enough to get ready.
I shall go with you to Paris, for my principal object in going with you is to see you married. When you go away for a trip, I go to London. That is all.
It is unnecessary to repeat my everlasting love and blessings for you and yours.
Ever your son, Vivekananda.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/XLVII Maharaja of Khetri

XLVII
U. S. A., 9th July, 1895.
. . . About my coming to India, the matter stands thus I am, as your Highness well knows, a man of dogged perseverance. I have planted a seed in this country; it is already a plant, and I expect it to be a tree very soon. I have got a few hundred followers. I shall make several Sannyâsins, and then I go to India leaving the work to them. The more the Christian priests oppose me, the more I am determined to leave a permanent mark on their country. . . . I have already some friends in London. I am going there by the end of August. . . . This winter anyway has to be spent partly in London and partly in New York, and then I shall be free to go to India. There will be enough men to carry on the work here after this winter if the Lord is kind. Each work has to pass through these stages — ridicule, opposition, and then acceptance. Each man who thinks ahead of his time is sure to be misunderstood. So opposition and persecution are welcome, only I have to be steady and pure and must have immense faith in God, and all these will vanish. . . .
Vivekananda.
# The Cook's Prologue and Tale (Chaucer)

part of The Canterbury Tales
* The Cokes Tale (1900) from The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer
* The Cook’s Tale from The Canterbury Tales and Faerie Queene (1870) (transcription project)
* The Cook’s Tale from The Canterbury tales of Geoffrey Chaucer (1914) (transcription project)
* The Cook’s Prologue and Tale from (unsourced)
# The Cop and the Anthem

* "The Cop and the Anthem" in The Four Million (1906)
* "The Cop and the Anthem" in The ransom of Red Chief and other O. Henry stories for boys (1921)
# The Convert

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Convert."
* sister projects: 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.
* "The Convert", a poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
* "The Convert", a poem by Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (writing as 'Laurence Hope')
# The Cook's Wedding

English-language translations of Кухарка женится include:
* The Cook's Wedding (Chekhov/Fell)
* The Cook's Wedding, translated by Constance Garnett in The Cooks Wedding and Other Stories (1922).