OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 059

No, not like that. A barren land, bare waste. Vulcanic lake, the dead sea : no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the earth. No wind would lift those waves, grey metal, poisonous foggy waters. Brimstone they called it raining down : the cities of the plain : Sodom, Gomorrah, Edom. All dead names. A dead sea in a dead land, grey and old. Old now. It bore the oldest, the first race. A bent hag crossed from Cassidy’s clutching a noggin bottle by the neck. The oldest people. Wandered far away over all the earth, captivity to captivity, multiplying, dying, being born everywhere. It lay there now. Now it could bear no more. Dead : an old woman’s : the grey sunken cunt of the world.
Desolation.
Grey horror seared his ftesh. Folding the page into his pocket he turned into Eccles’ Street, hurrying homeward. Cold oils slid along his veins, chilling his blood : age crusting him with a salt cloak. Well, I am here now. Morning mouth bad images. Got up wrong side of the bed. Must begin again those Sandow’s exercises. On the hands down. Blotchy brown brick houses. Number eighty still unlet. Why is that? Valuation is only twentyeight. Towers, Battersby, North, MacArthur : parlour windows plastered with bills. Plasters on a sore eye. To smell the gentle smoke of tea, fume of the pan, sizzling butter. Be near her ample bedwarmed flesh. Yes, yes.
Quick warm sunlight came running from Berkeley Road, swiftly, in slim sandals, along the brightening footpath. Runs, she runs to meet me, a girl with gold hair on the wind.
Two letters and a card lay on the hallfloor. He stopped and gathered them. Mrs Marion Bloom. His quick heart slowed at once. Bold hand. Mrs Marion.
— Poldy!
Entering the bedroom he halfclosed his eyes and walked through warm yellow twilight towards her tousled head.
— Who are the letters for?
He looked at them. Mullingar. Milly.
— A letter for me from Milly, he said carefully, and a card to you. And a letter for you.
He laid her card and letter on the twill bedspread near the curve of her knees.
— Do you want the blind up?
Letting the blind up by gentle tugs halfway his backward eye saw her glance at the letter and tuck it under her pillow.
— That do? he asked, turning.
She was reading the card, propped on her elbow.
# The Bonbonnière

Extracted from The Smart Set magazine, June 1904, pp. 1–37.
THE BONBONNIÈRE
By Ethel Watts Mumford
* PAGE
* Chapter I 1
* Chapter II 4
* Chapter III 9
* Chapter IV 15
* Chapter V 21
* Chapter VI 27
* Chapter VII 31
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 1940, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 83 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
# The Bohemian Question

* related portals: Czech lands, Austria.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
* "The Bohemian Question" in The Bohemian Review, 1 (4) (1917)
* The Bohemian Question (1917)
# The Bohemians (Czechs) In The Present Crisis/Back matter

National Printing & Publishing Co . 2146-50 Blue Island Ave. Chicago
# The Bohemians (Czechs) In The Present Crisis/Front matter

N address delivered by CHARLES PERGLER, LL. B. on the 28th day of May, 1916, in Chicago, at a meeting held to commemorate the deeds of Bohemian volunteers in the Great War
PUBLISHED BY THE Bohemian National Alliance of America 3639 West 26th Street CHICAGO, ILL.
SOME BOOKLETS ON THE BOHEMIAN CAUSE
Published by the BOHEMIAN NATIONAL ALLIANCE
DECLARATION of the Bohemian (Czech) Foreign Committee
ADDENDA: Professor T. G. Masaryk as a Lecturer in London University.
Comments of London Papers.
The Position of the Bohemians (Czechs) in the European War
CONTENTS:
Bohemia's Claim to Independence
# The Auk/13/1/Songs of the Western Meadowlark

Songs of the Western Meadowlark.
By L. Belding.
These songs of the Western Meadowlark (Sturnella magna neglecta) were copied at Gridley, California.
Numbers 1 and 2 are good examples of superior articulation. The pitch of No. 9 is uncertain, but that of the others is correct, or nearly so.
These twelve songs are selections from the best songsters. I have heard these songs many times, and have heard them sung imperfectly oftener than otherwise.
I have heard more writeable songs from this bird at this locality than at any or all places where I have been in this State, and I have always noticed the songs wherever I have been.
​No. 1.
No. 2.
No. 3.
No. 4.
No. 5.
No. 6.
No. 7.
No. 8.
No. 9.
No. 10.
No. 11.
No. 12.
# The Auk/37

* related portals: American Ornithologists' Union.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons gallery, Commons category, taxonomy, Wikidata item.

## Source

* (transcription project)
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
# The Auk/38
## Issue 2 (April-June)

* W.S. "Howard's 'Territory in Bird Life'". Pages 288-290.

## Issue 3 (July-September)

* Henry Mousley; "Which Sex Selects the Nesting Locality". Pages 321–328.
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
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate XXXVII

Plate XXXVII
Fitch del et lith. prel lith. Linn. imp.
Myosotis capitata Hook. fil.
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate XXXVIII

Plate XXXVIII
Fitch del et lith. prel lith. Linn. imp.
Myosotis antarctica Hook. fil.
# The Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich

THE
BOTHIE
OF
TOPER-NA-FUOSICH.
A LONG-VACATION PASTORAL.
BY ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.
Nunc formosissimus annus.
OXFORD: FRANCIS MACPHERSON. LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND. 1848.
NOTE.
The reader is wanted to expect every kind of irregularity in these modern hexameters: spondaic lines, so called, are almost the rule; and a word will often require to be transposed by the voice from the end of one line to the beginning of the next.
MY LONG-VACATION PUPILS
WILL I HOPE ALLOW ME TO INSCRIBE THIS TRIFLE TO THEM, AND WILL NOT, I TRUST, BE DISPLEASED IF IN A FICTION, PURELY FICTION, THEY ARE HERE AND THERE REMINDED OF TIMES WE ENJOYED TOGETHER.
* Part I
* Part II
* Part III
* Part IV
* Part V
* Part VI
* Part VII
* Part VIII
* Part IX
* Advertisement
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
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate XXXVI

Plate XXXVI
Fitch del et lith. prel lith. Linn. imp.
Gentiana cerina Hook. fil.
# The Bother

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
First published in the "Bombay" edition of the Collected Works (1919) as part of "The Muse Among the Motors".
Clough.
Hastily Adam our driver swallowed a curse in the darkness-- Petrol nigh at end and something wrong with a sprocket Made him speer for the nearest town, when lo! at the crossways Four blank letterless arms the virginal signpost extended. "Look!" thundered Hugh the Radical. "This is the England we boast of-- Bland, white-bellied, obese, but utterly useless for business. They are repainting the signs and have left the job in the middle. They are repainting the signs and traffic may stop till they've done it, Which is to say: till the son-of-a-gun of a local contractor, Having laboriously wiped out every name for Probably thirty miles round, be minded to finish his labour! Had not the fool the sense to paint out and paint in together?"
Thus, not seeing his speech belied his Radical Gospel (Which is to paint out the earth and then write "Damn" on the shutter), Hugh embroidered the theme imperially and stretched it From some borough in Wales through our Australian possessions, Making himself, reformer-wise, a bit of a nuisance Till, with the help of Adam, we cast him out on the landscape.
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 1936, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 87 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
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate XXXIX.XL

Plate XXXIX‧XL
Fitch del et lith. prel lith. Linn. imp.
Veronica Benthami Hook. fil.
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate XXXV

Plate XXXV
Fitch del et lith. prel lith. Linn. imp.
Gentiana concinna Hook. fil.
# The Art of Dying Well/To the Reader

TO THE READER.
In presenting to the public another volume of Bellarmine's spiritual works, I trust that, like the one already published, it will be found not unworthy of the venerable author's reputation. He is not indeed equal to many of the great spiritual writers, that lived about the time of the Reformation; "Controversy" was his chief delight, his characteristic.
But it is well known, that in his old age and in the holy calm of solitude, whither he had retired to prepare his soul for death he composed several excellent spiritual treatises. Among these, the "Art of Dying Well," will be found to contain many sublime and practical lessons, on the ​most important of all arts. It is written with a beautiful simplicity, unction, and strength of reasoning, supported by many apposite quotations from the sacred Scripture and the Fathers. The remarks on the "Sacraments" are especially valuable.
I should observe, that after I had translated the work, I found it had already been translated more than a century ago, by a Rev. John Ball.-" But on comparing it with the Latin, I soon found that it was more a paraphrase than a translation; that whole sentences were omitted in almost every page; that remarks were inserted which were not in the original, and especially that everything connected with the doctrines of the Catholic Church was carefully expunged.
The translator, however, acknowledges as much in his Preface: " Wherever my author goes off into the Romish innovations, I have attempted to give him another turn. I must farther own, that I have taken some liberty, where it was proper, to enlarge his thoughts " &c. (P. v.)
​This is now called by some living writers, who are so fond of translating Catholic books of devotion, " adapting them to the use of the English Church." Is it not a pity, that many of our best spiritual writers should be so translated by those of another communion, and that we ourselves should be rather backward in giving proper Translations to the public?
I trust that by the Blessing of God, this Translation, (such as it is,) on so important, so momentous a subject, may produce some good fruit in due season. And if there be any who shall feel after its perusal, that they have gained some spiritual profit to their soul, may I be allowed to make one humble yet earnest request? This is, that such would bestow a trifle on me, for the love of God, towards enabling me to liquidate the debt still remaining on my Church. "Charity covers a multitude of sins," and being the Queen of all other virtues, she powerfully pleads for us before the throne of mercy, and induces the Almighty ​to bestow His divine grace upon us, that by leading a good life, we may be enabled to die a holy Death.
JOHN DALTON.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Ca' the Yowes 2

Ca’ the Yowes.
[This set of "Ca' the yowes to the knowes" was written by Burns for Thomson's Collection in 1794. In a letter to Thomson, the poet says, "I am flattered at your adopting 'Ca" the yowes to the knowes,' as it was owing to me that it ever saw the light. About seven years ago I was well acquainted with a worthy little fellow of a clergyman, a Mr. Clunie, who sung it charmingly; and, at my request, Mr. Clark took it down from his singing. When I gave it to Johnson, I added some stanzas to the song, and mended others, but still it will not do for you. In a solitary stroll which I took to-day, I tried my hand on a few pastoral lines, following up the idea of the chorus, which I would preserve. Here it is, with all its crudities and imperfections on its head."]
Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather growes; Ca' them where the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie.
Hark, the mavis' evening sang, Sounding Cluden's woods amang; Then a-faulding let us gang, My bonnie dearie. ​We'll gang doun by Cluden side, Through the hazels spreading wide O'er the waves that sweetly glide, My bonnie dearie.
Yonder Cluden's silent towers, Where, at moonshine midnight hours. O'er the dewy budding flowers The fairies dance sae cheerie.
Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear: Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee near, My bonnie dearie.
Fair and lovely as thou art, Thou hast stoun my very heart; I can die—but canna part, My bonnie dearie.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Ca' the Yowes 1

Ca’ the Yowes.
[The original song of "Ca' the yowes to the knowes" is attributed to Isabell or Tibbie Pagan, a singular character, who died in the neighbourhood of Muirkirk, Ayrshire, (where she had spent most of her days,) in 1821, aged eighty. An account of her will be found in the "Ayrshire Contemporaries of Burns," Edinburgh, 1840. Tibbie was deformed in person, of a saturnine temper, and dissolute habits, but noted for her sarcastic wit and vocal powers. She subsisted chiefly by retailing whiskey, without a license, to those who visited her humble dwelling, and often, especially during the shooting-season, her hut or hovel was filled with gentlemen of the aristocracy, glad to enjoy a laugh at her humour, or to hear her sing. Tibbie published "A Collection of Songs and Poems," printed at Glasgow about 1805, but we cannot say whether "Ca' the yowes to the knowes" is included in the volume, as a complete copy of the work is not now to be had. Burns does not seem to have known the author of the song. In his Notes to Johnson's Museum, he says, "This song is in the true Scottish taste, yet I do not know that either air or words were ever in print before. It has a border sound; and the line,
'I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad,'
is Annandale or Eskdale, and I believe, good Yarrow." The version here given is the original one, as revised by Burns for the Museum. The last verse is wholly an addition by the poet himself. The air is simple, and old-like, though of its antiquity nothing can be said with certainty.]
Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them whare the heather grows, Ca' them whare the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie.
As I gaed down the water side, There I met my shepherd lad, He row'd me sweetly in his plaid, And ca'd me his dearie. Ca' the ewes, &c.
Will ye gang down the water side, And see the waves sae sweetly glide Beneath the hazels spreading wide, The moon it shines fu' clearly. Ca' the yowes, &c.
I was bred up at nae sic school, My shepherd lad, to play the fool; And a' the day to sit in dool, And nae body to see me. Ca' the yowes, &c.
Ye shall get gowns and ribbons meet, Cauf leather shoon upon your feet, And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep, And ye shall be my dearie. Ca' the yowes, &c.
If ye'll but stand to what ye've said, I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad; And ye may row me in your plaid, And I shall be your dearie. Ca' the yowes, &c.
While waters wimple to the sea, While day blinks in the lift sae hie; Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my e'e, Ye aye shall be my dearie. Ca' the yowes, &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Cadogan's Lament

Cadogan’s Lament.
[William Glen.—Air, "Oran an Aoig or The Song of Death."—The Hon. Henry Cadogan, lieut.-colonel of the 71st regiment, fell at the battle of Vittoria, on 21st June, 1813. An elegant marble monument was erected to his memory in the choir of the Glasgow Cathedral.]
At the sunset of glory the ev'ning is calm, No wild howling tempest can rave, The winds are all hush'd, and the dew-drops are balm, As they rest on the cheek of the brave.
At the war flash of battle, how gleams the red cheek, As it brightens while freedom is nigh; And the eye, as it closes, will high glory speak, While Victory heaves the last sigh.
How nobly he smiles from the field of his fame, With the death-mark engraved on his breast, With a feeble huzza, he joins the acclaim, And expires on the bed of his rest.
Cadogan! with glory thou'lt ever be named, And the heroes of Greece and of Rome, Will bend from their bright clouds, (those warriors famed,) And exultingly rest on thy tomb.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Calder braes

Calder braes.
[John Struthers.]
Bright be the bloom of Calder braes, There, lightsome, glide the sunny days, And there, by night, the moon's pale rays Keep aff black darkness dreary. There let the rosy-bosom'd Spring Her choicest sweets together bring, While round her, wild, on wanton wing, Her children flutter cheery.
There balmy, let the summer breeze, Sough saft amang the birken trees, Where stretch'd, the shepherd's pipe at ease, Unken'd to care sae bleary. And there, from Plenty's flowing horn, Let yellow Autumn pour her corn, That hinds the coming wintry morn May see, nor tremble eerie.
For there young fancy's beamy rays Shone bright upon my infant days, Ere yet I dream'd life's thorny ways Had been sae waefu' weary. Companions of my artless glee! Sweet laughing imps! now where are ye? Wish'd manhood's come—but ah! like me, Ye sigh life's paths are briery.
No longer playful in the stream, Ye, paidling, con the flowery theme, Nor wild flowers string, and fondly dream Your days shall rise thus clear aye: No; far behind yon rising wave, The storms of life, ye, wandering, brave, Save one or two, who here a grave Found ere their feet were weary.
Departed friends! upon your tomb, Be still the wild flowers seen to bloom,
There evening breathe her sweet perfume, And shed the silent tear aye. With you, this wildly throbbing breast, Deep worn with care, with sorrow prest, Would glad in silence sink to rest, From strife and toil sae weary.
But in my heart, with life's warm tide, Thou, Calder, still shalt dimpling glide, And there thy braes in flowery pride Shall rise for ever cheery. And still my ardent wish shall be, That plenty, love, and social glee, In concert sweet, may keep with thee, A refuge for the weary.
# The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin/Section Three
## Section Three

I will give you what Account I can of them at this distance from my Papers, and if they are not lost in my Absence, you will among them find many more Particulars. Thomas was bred a Smith under his Father, but being ingenious, and encourag’d in Learning (as all his Brothers like wise were) by an Esquire Palmer, then the principal Gentleman in that Parish, he qualify’d himself for the Business of Scrivener, became a considerable Man in the County Affairs, was a chief Mover of all public Spirited Undertakings, for the County, or Town of Northampton & his own Village, of which many Instances were told us at Ecton, and he was much taken Notice of and patroniz’d by the then Lord Halifax. He died in 1702, Jan. 6, old Style, just 4 Years to a Day before I was born. The Account we receiv’d of his Life & Character from some old People at Ecton, I remember struck you, as something extraordinary from its Similarity to what you knew of mine. Had he died on the same Day, you said one might have suppos’d a Transmigration. John was bred a Dyer, I believe of Woollens. Benjamin, was bred a Silk Dyer, serving an Apprenticeship at London. He was an ingenious Man, I remember him well, for when I was a Boy he came over to my Father in Boston, and lived in the House with us some Years. He lived to a great Age. His Grandson Samuel Franklin now lives in Boston. He left behind him two Quarto Volumes, M.S. of his own Poetry, consisting of little occasional Pieces address’d to his Friends and Relations, of which the following sent to me, is a Specimen. (Here insert it.) He had form’d a Shorthand of his own, which he taught me, but, never practising it I have now forgot it. I was nam’d after this Uncle, there being a particular Affection between him and my Father. He was very pious, a great Attender of Sermons of the best Preachers, which he took down in his Shorthand and had with him many Volumes of them. He was also much of a Politician, too much perhaps for his Station. There fell lately into my Hands in London a Collection he had made of all the principal Pamphlets relating to Public Affairs from 1641 to 1717. Many of the Volumes are wanting, as appears by the Numbering, but there still remains 8 Vols. Folio, and 24 in 4to & 8vo. A Dealer in old Books met with them, and knowing me by sometimes buying of him, he brought them to me. It seems my Uncle must have left them here when he went to America, which was above 50 Years since. There are many of his Notes in the Margins.
# The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin/Section Twelve
## Section Twelve

My Inclinations for the Sea, were by this time worn out, or I might now have gratify’d them. But having a Trade, & supposing myself a pretty good Workman, I offer’d my Service to the Printer of the Place, old Mr Wm. Bradford, (who had been the first Printer in Pennsylvania, but remov’d from thence upon the Quarrel of Geo. Keith). He could give me no Employment, having little to do, and Help enough already: But, says he, my Son at Philadelphia has lately lost his principal Hand, Aquila Rose, by Death. If you go thither I believe he may employ you. Philadelphia was 100 Miles farther. I set out, however, in a Boat for Amboy, leaving my Chest and Things to follow me round by Sea. In crossing the Bay we met with a Squall that tore our rotten Sails to pieces, prevented our getting into the Kill, and drove us upon Long Island. In our Way a drunken Dutchman, who was a Passenger too, fell over board; when he was sinking I reach’d thro’ the Water to his shock Pate & drew him up so that we got him in again. His Ducking sober’d him a little, & he went to sleep, taking first out of his Pocket a Book which he desir’d I would dry for him. It prov’d to be my old favorite Author Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress in Dutch, finely printed on good Paper with copper Cuts, a Dress better than I had ever seen it wear in its own Language. I have since found that it has been translated into most of the Language of Europe, and suppose it has been more generally read than any other Book except perhaps the Bible. Honest John was the first thatI know of who mix’d Narration & Dialogue, a Method of Writing very engaging to the Reader, who in the most interesting Parts finds himself as it were brought into the Company, & present at the Discourse. Defoe in his Crusoe, his Moll Flanders, Religious Courtship, Family Instructor, & other Pieces, has imitated it with Success. And Richardson has done the same in his Pamela, &c.
When we drew near the Island we found it was at a Place where there could be no Landing, there being a great Surf on the stony Beach. So we dropped Anchor & swung round towards the Shore. Some People came down to the Water Edge & hallow’d to us, as we did to them. But the Wind was so high & the Surf so loud, that we could not hear so as to understand each other. There were Canoes on the Shore, & we made Signs & hallow’d that they should fetch us, but they either did not understand us, or thought it impracticable. So they went away, and Night coming on, we had no Remedy but to wait till the Wind should abate, and in the mean time the Boatman & I concluded to sleep if we could, and so crowded into the Scuttle with the Dutchman who was still wet, and the Spray beating over the Head of our Boat, leak’d thro’ to us, so that we were soon almost as wet as he. In this Manner we lay all Night with very little Rest. But the Wind abating the next Day, we made a Shift to reach Amboy before Night, having been 30 Hours on the Water without Victuals, or any Drink but a Bottle of filthy Rum: The Water we sail’d on being salt.