OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Biographical Dictionary of America/Allen, Ira

​ALLEN, Ira, statesman, was born in Cornwall, Conn., April 21, 1751, the youngest son of Joseph and Mary Baker Allen, and brother of Ethan, Heman, Hebar, and Levi Allen. He received a good English education, and was a practical land surveyor when very young. He came with his brothers to Vermont in 1771, and in one year was an extensive proprietor of land in Burlington and Colchester, and, with his brothers and Remember Baker, founded the Onion river land company, the largest landed concern in the state. This ownership brought him in opposition to the claims of New York to the territory, and he served as secretary of the committee of safety from its formation to its close. He was lieutenant in Colonel Warner's regiment in the Canada campaign and a trusted confidant of General Montgomery. In the formation of the new state in 1778 he was a member of its council and its secretary. He was also its first treasurer, serving as such nine years, besides being surveyor-general until 1786. About this time a determined opposition to his holding so many offices resulted in his defeat at further elections. He served as captain, colonel, and major-general of the state militia and as a member of the board of war during the revolution. He was prominent in the Haldiman negotiations, and while his conduct bordered on disloyalty to the colonies, and gave color to the charge that he was ready to surrender the territory of Vermont to the crown, the fact remains that his action delayed the consummation of an agreement, and saved the territory to the United States. In 1786, with his brother Levi, he was commissioned to negotiate a treaty of commerce with Canada, and proposed and urged the cutting of a canal to ​connect Lake Champlain with the St. Lawrence river, offering to cut it at his own expense if the British would allow him to collect tonnage. He at this time (1786) was an enthusiastic promoter of the plan to cut a canal between the southern waters of the lake and the head waters of the Hudson river. His official connection with the state closed in 1790 with the settlement of the controversy with New York. In 1789 he presented to the legislature a memorial for the establishment of the Vermont university, and with it a subscription list of £5643, of which he contributed £4000; the charter being granted Nov. 3, 1790. In 1795 he went to Europe in the interest of his canal project and with a commission from the governor to purchase arms for the state. The British cabinet treated his project with scant encouragement, and he went to France. After purchasing the arms for the State he sent them to the United States. The ship was captured by the British, and the cargo confiscated. He was eight years abroad seeking redress in the British courts. During this time he wrote his "History of Vermont." Meanwhile his landed property had suffered. Harassed by creditors and lawsuits he fled to Philadelphia. He married Jerusha, daughter of General Roger Enos, and died January 7, 1814.
# The Biographical Dictionary of America/Allen, Henry Watkins

​ALLEN, Henry Watkins, governor, was born in Prince Edward county, Va., April 29, 1820. He was educated at the Collegiate institute, Marionville, Mo., studied law; was admitted to the bar, and practised at Grand Gulf, Miss. He married in 1842, Salome Crane of Rodney, Miss., and in that year raised and commanded a company under Gen. Houston in the war between Texas and Mexico. He was a representative in the Mississippi legislature in 1846; engaged in sugar-planting at West Baton Rouge, La., and was elected to the Louisiana legislature in 1853. He studied law at Harvard in 1854; sailed for Italy in 1859, intending to enlist with Garibaldi, but found the war was over, and made a tour of Europe. He served a second term in the Louisiana legislature, enlisted in the Confederate army in 1861, and became colonel of the 4th Louisiana regiment and military governor of Jackson, Miss. He distinguished himself at Shiloh, Baton Rouge and Vicksburg; was promoted brigadier-general in 1864, and was elected governor of Louisiana. He returned to the city of Mexico in 1866, and established the "Mexican Times." He died in the city of Mexico, April 22, 1867.
# The Biographical Dictionary of America/Allen, Elizabeth (Akers)

​ALLEN, Elizabeth (Akers), author, was born at Strong, Me., Oct. 9, 1832. Her maiden name was Elizabeth Chase. She began to write verses at an early age under the pen name of "Florence Percy." Some of these were, in 1855, published in a volume entitled, "Forest Buds." Some years later she was married to Benjamin Paul Akers, the sculptor, who died in 1861, and she became in 1865 the wife of E. M. Allen of New York. For several years following, her residence was in Richmond, Va. She published a second volume of poems in 1866, which included the poem "Rock Me to Sleep, Mother," afterwards set to music by several composers, and which became very popular, so that its authorship was claimed by several writers of verses. Her claim was, however, firmly established by indisputable evidence. She also published "The Silver Bridge," in 1885; a volume of prose and verse anonymously in 1886; and a fourth volume of verse in 1891; she contributed to the monthly magazines. Having published her second book while she was Elizabeth Akers, she retained that as a pen name. She was literary editor of the Advertiser, Portland, Me., and published "The Proud Lady of Stavoren" (1899).
# The Book of Scottish Song/Dumbarton's Drums

Dumbarton's Drums.
[This appears in the first vol. of the Tea-Table Miscellany, (1724). Nothing is known of the author. The song does not relate to the drums of the garrison of Dumbarton on the Clyde, (as many suppose it does,) but to a British regiment, called, as was then the custom, after its first commander, the Earl of Dumbarton, Dumbarton's regiment. The Earl was attached to the Stuart family, and died an exile in France in 1692.]
Dumbarton's drums beat bonnie, O, When they mind me of my dear Johnnie, O; How happie am I When my soldier is by, While he kisses and blesses his Annie, O! 'Tis a soldier alone can delight me, O, For his graceful looks do invite me, O; While guarded in his arms, I'll fear no war's alarms, Neither danger nor death shall e'er fright me, O.
My love is a handsome laddie, O, Genteel, but ne'er foppish nor gaudy, O. Though commissions are dear, Yet I'll buy him one this year, For he'll serve no longer a cadie, O. A soldier has honour and bravery, O; Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery, O, He minds no other thing But the ladies or the king; For every other care is but slavery, O.
Then I'll be the captain's lady, O, Farewell all my friends and my daddy, O; I'll wait no more at home, But I'll follow with the drum, And whene'er that beats I'll be ready, O. Dumbarton's drums sound bonnie, O, They are sprightly like my dear Johnnie, O. How happy shall I be When on my soldier's knee, And he kisses and blesses his Annie, O!
# The Book of Scottish Song/Doun the burn, Davie

Doun the burn, Davie.
[This was contributed by Robert Crawfurd, author of "Tweedside," &c. to the first volume of the Tea-Table Miscellany. It originally consisted of four stanzas, but the last two, being rather highly coloured, were reduced to one, by Burns, for Thomson's collection. Burns says, "I have been informed, that the tune of Doun the burn, Davie, was the composition of David Maigh, keeper of the blood slouth hounds, belonging to the laird of Riddell in Tweeddale." When David Maigh lived is not said; but the tune appears, along with the words, in the Orpheus Caledonius, 1725.]
When trees did bud, and fields were green, And broom bloom'd fair to see; When Mary was complete fifteen, And love laugh'd in her e'e; Blythe Davie's blinks her heart did move To speak her mind thus free; Gang down the burn, Davie, love, And I will follow thee.
Now Davie did each lad surpass That dwelt on this burnside; And Mary was the bonniest lass, Just meet to be a bride: Her cheeks were rosie, red and white; Her een were bonnie blue; Her looks were like the morning bright, Her lips like dropping dew.
As down the burn they took their way, And through the flow'ry dale; His cheek to hers he aft did lay, And love was aye the tale. With, Mary, when shall we return, Sic pleasure to renew? Quoth Mary, Love, I like the burn, And aye will follow you.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Dumbarton's bonnie Dell

Dumbarton’s bonnie Dell.
[Words by C. M. Westmacott. Music composed by John Sinclair.]
There's ne'er a nook in a' the land Victoria rules sae well, There's naething half sae canty, grand, As blythe Dumbarton's dell; And would you speer the reason why, The truth I'll fairly tell, A winsome lassie lives hard by Dumbarton's bonnie dell.
Up by yon glen, Loch Lomond laves, Where bold M'Gregors dwell; And bogies dance o'er heroes' graves, There lives Dumbarton's belle; She's blest with ev'ry charm in life, And this I know full well— I'll ne'er be happy till my wife Is blythe Dumbarton's belle.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Dowie in the hint o' hairst

Dowie in the hint o' hairst.
[Written by Hugh Ainslie, a native of the parish of Dailly, Ayrshire, and for some time a copying clerk in the Register House, Edinburgh. Mr. Ainslie is now, we believe, resident in the United States of America, to which, with his family, he emigrated in 1822. He is author of a small volme, called "A Pilgrimage to the Land of Burns"]
It's dowie in the hint o' hairst, At the wa'-gang o' the swallow, When the wind grows cauld, and the burns grow bauld, And the wuds are hingin' yellow; But oh, its dowier far to see The wa'-gang o' her the heart gangs wi', The dead-set o' a shinin' ee, That darkens the wearie warld on thee.
There was mickle love atween us twa— Oh, twa could ne'er be fonder; And the thing on yerd was never made That could ha'e gart us sunder. But the way o' Heav'n's abune a' ken— And we maun bear what it likes to sen'— It's comfort, though, to wearie men, That the warst o' this warld's waes maun en'.
There's mony things that come and gae— Just kent and just forgotten— And the flowers that busk a bonnie brae, Gin anither year lie rotten. But the last look o' that lovely e'e, And the dying grip she ga'e to me, They're settled like eternitie— Oh, Mary! that I were wi' thee.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Draw the sword

Draw the sword.
[Words by J. R. Planche. Music altered and arranged by G. Herbert Rodwell.]
Draw the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland! Over mountain and moor hath passed the war-sign: The pibroch is pealing, pealing, pealing, Who heeds not the summons is nae son o' thine. The clans they are gath'ring, gath'ring, gath'ring, The clans they are gath'ring by loch and by lea; The banners they are flying, flying, flying, The banners they are flying that lead to victory. Draw the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland! Charge as ye charged in the days o' langsyne; Sound to the onset, the onset, the onset, He who but falters is nae son o' thine.
Sheath the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland! Sheath the sword, Scotland, for dimmed is its shine; Thy foemen are fleeing, fleeing, fleeing, And wha kens nae mercy is nae son o' thine! The struggle is over, over, over, The struggle is over!—the victory won! There are tears for the fallen, the fallen, the fallen, And glory for all who their duty have done! Sheath the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland! With thy loved thistle new laurels entwine; Time shall ne'er part them, part them, part them, But hand down the garland to each son o' thine.
# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Dogwood Blossoms

George Marion McClellan
DOGWOOD BLOSSOMS
To dreamy languors and the violet mist
Of early Spring, the deep sequestered vale
Gives first her paling-blue Miamimist,
Where blithely pours the cuckoo's annual tale
Of Summer promises and tender green,
Of a new life and beauty yet unseen.
The forest trees have yet a sighing mouth,
Where dying winds of March their branches swing,
While upward from the dreamy, sunny South,
A hand invisible leads on the Spring.
His rounds from bloom to bloom the bee begins
With flying song, and cowslip wine he sups,
Where to the warm and passing southern winds,
Azaleas gently swing their yellow cups.
Soon everywhere, with glory through and through.
The fields will spread with every brilliant hue.
But high o'er all the early floral train,
Where softness all the arching sky resumes,
The dogwood dancing to the winds' refrain,
In stainless glory spreads its snowy blooms.
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# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Dream and the Song

DREAM AND THE SONG
So oft our hearts, belovèd lute,
In blossomy haunts of song are mute;
So long we pore, 'mid murmurlngs dull,
O'er loveliness unutterable.
So vain is all our passion strong!
The dream is lovelier than the song.
The rose thought, touched by words, doth turn
Wan ashes. Still, from memory's urn,
The lingering blossoms tenderly
Refute our wilding minstrelsy.
Alas! we work but beauty's wrong!
The dream is lovelier than the song.
Yearned Shelley o'er the golden flame?
Left Keats for beauty's lure, a name
But "writ in water"? Woe is me!
To grieve o'er flowerful faëry.
My Phasian doves are flown so long—
The dream is lovelier than the song!
Ah, though we build a bower of dawn,
The golden-wingèd bird is gone.
And morn may gild, through shimmering leaves,
Only the swallow-twittering eaves.
What art may house or gold prolong
A dream far lovelier than a song?
The lilting witchery, the unrest
Of wingèd dreams, is in our breast;
But ever dear Fulfilment's eyes
Gaze otherward. The long-sought prize,
My lute, must to the gods belong.
The dream is lovelier than the song.
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# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Fifty Years

FIFTY YEARS
(1863-1913)
On the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Signing of the Emancipation Proclamation
O brothers mine, to-day we stand
Where half a century sweeps our ken,
Since God, through Lincoln's ready hand,
Struck off our bonds and made us men.
Just fifty years—a winter's day—
As runs the history of a race;
Yet, as we look back o'er the way.
How distant seems our starting place!
Look farther back! Three centuries!
To where a naked, shivering score,
Snatched from their haunts across the seas,
Stood, wild-eyed, on Virginia's shore.
This land is ours by right of birth.
This land is ours by right of toil; We helped to turn its virgin earth,
Our sweat is in its fruitful soil.
Where once the tangled forest stood,—
Where flourished once rank weed and thorn,—
Behold the path-traced, peaceful wood,
The cotton white, the yellow corn.
To gain these fruits that have been earned,
To hold these fields that have been won,
Our arms have strained, our backs have burned,
Bent bare beneath a ruthless sun.
That Banner which is now the type
Of victory on field and flood— Remember, its first crimson stripe
Was dyed by Attucks' willing blood.
And never yet has come the cry—
When that fair flag has been assailed—
For men to do, for men to die,
That we have faltered or have failed.
We've helped to bear it, rent and torn,
Through many a hot-breath'd battle breeze
Held in our hands, it has been borne
And planted far across the seas.
And never yet,—O haughty Land,
Let us, at least, for this be praised—
Has one black, treason-guided hand
Ever against that flag been raised.
Then should we speak but servile words,
Or shall we hang our heads in shame?
Stand back of new-come foreign hordes,
And fear our heritage to claim?
No! stand erect and without fear, And for our foes let this suffice—
We've bought a rightful sonship here, And we have more than paid the price.
And yet, my brothers, well I know
The tethered feet, the pinioned wings,
The spirit bowed beneath the blow,
The heart grown faint from wounds and stings,
The staggering force of brutish might, That strikes and leaves us stunned and dazed;
The long, vain waiting through the night
To hear some voice for justice raised.
Full well I know the hour when hope
Sinks dead, and 'round us everywhere
Hangs stifling darkness, and we grope
With hands uplifted in despair.
Courage! Look out, beyond, and see
The far horizon's beckoning span!
Faith in your God-known destiny!
We are a part of some great plan.
Because the tongues of Garrison
And Phillips now are cold in death,
Think you their work can be undone?
Or quenched the fires lit by their breath?
Think you that John Brown's spirit stops?
That Lovejoy was but idly slain?
Or do you think those precious drops
From Lincoln's heart were shed in vain?
That for which millions prayed and sighed.
That for which tens of thousands fought,
For which so many freely died,
God cannot let it come to naught.
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# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Harlem Shadows

HARLEM SHADOWS
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# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Dusk Song

William H. A. Moore
DUSK SONG
The garden is very quiet to-night,
The dusk has gone with the Evening Star,
And out on the bay a lone ship light
Makes a silver pathway over the bar
Where the sea sings low,
I follow the light with an earnest eye,
Creeping along to the thick far-away,
Until it fell in the depths of the deep, dark sky
With the haunting dream of the dusk of day
And its lovely glow.
Long nights, long nights and the whisperings of new ones,
Flame the line of the pathway down to the sea
With the halo of new dreams and the hallow of old ones.
And they bring magic light to my love reverie
And a lover's regret.
Tender sorrow for loss of a soft murmured word, Tender measure of doubt in a faint, aching heart,
Tender listening for wind-songs in the tree heights heard
When you and I were of the dusks a part,
Are with me yet.
I pray for faith to the noble spirit of Space,
I sound the cosmic depths for the measure of glory
Which will bring to this earth the imperishable race
Of whom Beauty dreamed in the soul-toned story
The Prophets told.
Silence and love and deep wonder of stars
Dust-silver the heavens from west to east,
From south to north, and in a maze of bars
Invisible I wander far from the feast
As night grows old.
Half blind is my vision I know to the truth,
My ears are half deaf to the voice of the tear
That touches the silences as Autumn's ruth
Steals thru the dusks of each returning year
A goodly friend.
The Autumn, then Winter and wintertime's grief!
But the weight of the snow is the glistening gift
Which loving brings to the rose and its leaf,
For the days of the roses glow in the drift
And never end.
The moon has come. Wan and pallid is she.
The spell of half memories, the touch of half tears,
And the wounds of worn passions she brings to me
With all the tremor of the far-off years
And their mad wrong.
Yet the garden is very quiet to-night,
The dusk has long gone with the Evening Star,
And out on the bay the moon's wan light
Lays a silver pathway beyond the bar,
Dear heart, pale and long.
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# The Book of American Negro Poetry/Hog Meat

HOG MEAT
Deze eatin' folks may tell me ub de gloriz ub spring lam',
An' de toofsumnis ub tuckey et wid cel'ry an' wid jam;
Ub beef-st'ak fried wid unyuns, an' sezoned up so fine—
But you' jes' kin gimme hog-meat, an' I'm happy all de time.
When de fros' is on de pun'kin an' de sno'-flakes in de ar',
I den begin rejoicin'—hog-killin' time is near;
An' de vizhuns ub de fucher den fill my nightly dreams.
Fur de time is fas' a-comin' fur de 'lishus pork an' beans.
We folks dat's frum de kuntry may be behin' de sun—
We don't like city eatin's, wid beefsteaks dat ain' done—
'Dough mutton chops is splendid, an' dem veal cutlits fine,
To me 'tain't like a sphar-rib, or gret big chunk ub chine.
Jes' talk to me 'bout hog-meat, ef yo' want to see me pleased.
Fur biled wid beans tiz gor'jus, or made in hog-head cheese;
An' I could jes' be happy, 'dout money, cloze or house,
Wid plenty yurz an' pig feet made in ol'-fashun "souse."
I 'fess I'm only humun, I hab my joys an' cares—
Sum days de clouds hang hebby, sum days de skies ar' fair;
But I forgib my in'miz, my heart is free frum hate,
When my bread is filled wid cracklins an' dar's chidlins on my plate.
'Dough 'possum meat is glo'yus wid 'taters in de pan,
But put 'longside pork sassage it takes a backward stan';
Ub all yer fancy eatin's, jes gib to me fur mine
Sum souse or pork or chidlins, sum sphar-rib, or de chine.
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# The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ/Chapter 21

Ravanna sees Jesus in the temple and is captivated. Hillel tells him about the boy. Ravanna finds Jesus in Nazareth and gives a feast in his honour. Ravanna becomes patron of Jesus, and takes him to India to study the Brahmic religion.
1. A royal prince of India, Ravanna of Orissa in the south, was at the Jewish feast.
2. Ravanna was a man of wealth; and he was just, and with a band of Brahmic priests sought wisdom in the West.
3. When Jesus stood among the Jewish priests and read and spoke, Ravanna heard and was amazed.
4. And when he asked who Jesus was, from whence he came and what he was, chief Hillel said,5. We call this child the Day Star from on high, for he has come to bring to men a light, the light of life; to lighten up the way of men and to redeem his people, Israel.
6. And Hillel told Ravanna all about the child; about the prophecies concerning him; about the wonders of the night when he was born; about the visit of the magian priests;
7. About the way in which he was protected from the wrath of evil men; about his flight to Egypt-land, and how he then was serving with his father as a carpenter in Nazareth.
8. Ravanna was entranced, and asked to know the way to Nazareth, that he might go and honor such a one as son of God.
9. And with his gorgeous train he journeyed on the way and came to Nazareth of Galilee.
10. He found the object of his search engaged in building dwellings for the sons of men.
11. And when he first saw Jesus he was climbing up a twelve step ladder, and he carried in his hands a compass, square and axe.
12. Ravanna said, All hail, most favored son of heaven!
13. And at the inn Ravanna made a feast for all the people of the town; and Jesus and his parents were honored guests.
14. For certain days Ravanna was a guest in Joseph's home on Marmion Way; he sought to learn the secret of the wisdom of the son; but it was all to great for him.
15. And then he asked that he might be the patron of the child; might take him to the East where he could learn the wisdom of the Brahms.
16. And Jesus longed to go that he might learn; and after many days his parents gave consent.
17. Then, with proud heart, Ravanna with his train, began the journey towards the rising sun; and after many days they crossed the Sind, and reached the province of Orissa, and the palace of the prince.
18. The Brahmic priests were glad to welcome home the prince; with favor they received the Jewish boy.
19. And Jesus was accepted as a pupil in the temple Jagannath; and here learned the Vedas and the Manic laws.
20. The Brahmic masters wondered at the clear conceptions of the child, and often were amazed when he explained to them the meaning of the laws.