OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# National Biscuit Company v. Pennsylvania

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United States Supreme Court
357 U.S. 571
National Biscuit Company v. Pennsylvania
Messrs. Roy J. Keefer and Leslie M. Swope, for appellant.
Messrs. Thomas D. McBride, Atty.Gen. of Pennsylvania and George W. Keitel, Deputy Atty.Gen., for appellee.
PER CURIAM.

## 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
# National Biscuit Company v. Pennsylvania/Opinion of the Court

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
United States Supreme Court
357 U.S. 571
National Biscuit Company v. Pennsylvania
The motion to dismiss is granted and the appeal is dismissed for want of a substantial federal question.

## 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
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Muffled Drum

THE MUFFLED DRUM.*
The muffled drum was heard  In the Pyrenees by night, With a dull deep rolling sound  Which told the hamlets round  Of a soldier's burial rite.
But it told them not how dear  In a home beyond the main, Was the warrior youth laid low that hour,  By a mountain stream of Spain.
The oaks of England wav'd  O'er the slumbers of his race, But a pine of the Ronceval made moan  Above his last lone place:
When the muffled drum was heard  In the Pyrenees by night, With a dull deep rolling sound  Which call'd strange echoes round  To the soldier's burial rite.
Brief was the sorrowing there,  By the stream from battle red, And tossing on its wave the plumes  Of many a stately head;
But a mother—soon to die,  And a sister—long to weep, Ev'n then were breathing prayer for him,  In that home beyond the deep:
While the muffled drum was heard  In the Pyrenees by night, With a dull deep rolling sound,  And the dark pines mourn'd round,  O'er the soldier's burial-rite.
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Sister's Dream

THE SISTER'S DREAM.
Suggested by a picture, in which a young girl is represented as sleeping, and visited during her slumbers by the spirits of her departed sisters.
THE SISTER'S DREAM.
She sleeps!—but not the free and sunny sleep  That lightly on the brow of childhood lies: Though happy be her rest, and soft, and deep,  Yet, ere it sunk upon her shadowed eyes, Thoughts of past scenes and kindred graves o'erswept Her soul's meek stillness:—she had prayed and wept.
And now in visions to her couch they come,  The early lost—the beautiful—the dead— That unto her bequeathed a mournful home,  Whence with their voices all sweet laughter fled; They rise—the sisters of her youth arise, As from the world where no frail blossom dies.
And well the sleeper knows them not of earth—  Not as they were when binding up the flowers, Telling wild legends round the winter-hearth,  Braiding their long fair hair for festal hours; These things are past;—a spiritual gleam, A solemn glory, robes them in that dream.
Yet, if the glee of life's fresh budding years  In those pure aspects may no more be read, Thence, too, hath sorrow melted,—and the tears  Which o'er their mother's holy dust they shed, Are all effaced; there earth hath left no sign Save its deep love, still touching every line.
But oh! more soft, more tender, breathing more  A thought of pity, than in vanished days: While, hovering silently and brightly o'er  The lone one's head, they meet her spirit's gaze With their immortal eyes, that seem to say, "Yet, sister, yet we love thee, come away!"
'Twill fade, the radiant dream! and will she not  Wake with more painful yearning at her heart? Will not her home seem yet a lonelier spot,  Her task more sad, when those bright shadows part? And the green summer after them look dim, And sorrow's tone be in the bird's wild hymn?
But let her hope be strong, and let the dead  Visit her soul in heaven's calm beauty still, Be their names uttered, be their memory spread  Yet round the place they never more may fill! All is not over with earth's broken tie— Where, where should sisters love, if not on high?
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Sisters

Note the reversal of the ending of the original poem
THE SISTERS.*
A BALLAD.
"I go, sweet sister; yet, my heart would linger with thee fain, And unto every parting gift some deep remembrance chain; Take then the braid of Eastern pearls which once I loved to wear, And with it bind for festal scenes the dark waves of thy hair!
Its pale pure brightness will beseem those raven tresses well, And I shall need such pomp no more in my lone convent cell."
"Oh speak not thus, my Leonor! why part from kindred love? Thro' festive scenes, when thou art gone—my steps no more shall move! How could I bear a lonely heart amid a reckless throng? I should but miss earth's dearest voice in every tone of song; Keep, keep the braid of Eastern pearls, or let me proudly twine Its wreath once more around that brow, that queenly brow of thine."
"Oh wouldst thou strive a wounded bird from shelter to detain? Or wouldst thou call a spirit freed, to weary life again. Sweet sister, take the golden cross that I have worn so long, And bathed with many a burning tear for secret woe and wrong. It could not still my beating heart! but may it be a sign Of peace and hope, my gentle one! when meekly pressed to thine!"
"Take back, take back the cross of gold, our mother's gift to thee, It would but of this parting hour, a bitter token be; With funeral splendour to mine eye, it would but sadly shine,
And tell of early treasures lost, of joy no longer mine! Oh sister! if thy heart be thus with buried grief oppress'd, Where wouldst thou pour it forth so well, as on my faithful breast!"
"Urge me no more! a blight hath fallen upon my summer years! I should but darken thy young life with fruitless pangs and fears; But take at least the lute I lov'd, and guard it for my sake, And sometimes, from its silvery strings one tone of memory wake! Sing to those chords by starlight's gleam our own sweet vesper hymn, And think that I too chant it then, far in my cloister dim."
"Yes, I will take the silvery lute—and I will sing to thee A song we heard in childhood's days, ev'n from our father's knee. Oh sister! sister! are these notes amid forgotten things? Do they not linger as in love, on the familiar strings? Seems not our sainted mother's voice to murmur in the strain, Kind sister! gentlest Leonor! say shall it plead in vain?"
SONG.
"Leave us not, leave us not!  Say not adieu! Have we not been to thee  Tender and true?
"Take not thy sunny smile  Far from our hearth! With that sweet light will fade  Summer and mirth.
"Leave us not, leave us not!  Can thy heart roam? Wilt thou not pine to hear  Voices from home?
"Too sad our love would be,  If thou wert gone! Turn to us, leave us not!  Thou art our own!"
"Oh sister, hush that thrilling lute, oh cease that haunting lay, Too deeply pierce those wild sweet notes; yet, yet I cannot stay,
For weary—weary is my heart! I hear a whispered call In every breeze that stirs the leaf and bids the blossom fall. I cannot breathe in freedom here, my spirit pines to dwell Where the world's voice can reach no more!—oh calm thee! Fare thee well!"
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Orange Bough

VI.
THE ORANGE-BOUGH.
Oh! bring me one sweet Orange-bough, To fan my cheek, to cool my brow; One bough, with pearly blossoms drest, And bind it, Mother! on my breast!
Go, seek the grove along the shore, Whose odours I must breathe no more; The grove where every scented tree Thrills to the deep voice of the sea.
Oh! Love's fond sighs, and fervent prayer, And wild farewell, are lingering there; Each leaf's light whisper hath a tone, My faint heart, ev'n in death, would own.
Then bear me thence one bough, to shed Life's parting sweetness round my head, And bind it, Mother! on my breast When I am laid in lonely rest.
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Rio Verde Song

III.
THE RIO VERDE SONG.
The Rio Verde, a small river of Spain, is celebrated in the old ballad romances of their country for the frequent combats on its banks, between Moor and Christian. The ballad referring to this stream, in Percy's Reliques,
"Gentle river, gentle river, Lo! thy streams are stained with gore,"
will be remembered by many readers.
III.
THE RIO VERDE SONG.
Flow, Rio Verde!  In melody flow; Win her that weepeth  To slumber from woe; Bid thy wave's music  Roll thro' her dreams, Grief ever loveth  The kind voice of streams.
Bear her lone spirit  Afar on the sound, Back to her childhood,  Her life's fairy ground;
Pass like the whisper  Of love that is gone— —Flow, Rio Verde!  Softly flow on!
Dark glassy water  So crimson'd of yore! Love, death, and sorrow  Know thy green shore. Thou shouldst have echoes  For grief's deepest tone— —Flow, Rio Verde,  Softly flow on!
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Rock beside the Sea

THE ROCK BESIDE THE SEA.
Oh! tell me not the woods are fair  Now Spring is on her way; Well, well I know how brightly there  In joy the young leaves play; How sweet on winds of morn or eve  The violet's breath may be;— —Yet ask me, woo me not to leave  My lone rock by the sea.
The wild wave's thunder on the shore,  The curlew's restless cries, Unto my watching heart are more  Than all earth's melodies.
—Come back, my ocean rover! come!  There's but one place for me, Till I can greet thy swift sail home—  —My lone rock by the sea!
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Rock of Cader Idris

THE ROCK OF CADER IDRIS.
A LEGEND OF WALES.
It is an old tradition of the Welch Bards, that on the summit of the mountain Cader Idris, is an excavation resembling a couch; and that whoever should pass a night in that hollow, would be found in the morning either dead, in a state of frenzy, or endowed with the highest poetical inspiration. This song is one of a "Selection of Welch Melodies, arranged by John Parry, and published by Mr. Power."
THE ROCK OF CADER IDRIS.
A LEGEND OF WALES.
I lay on that rock where the storms have their dwelling,  The birth-place of phantoms, the home of the cloud; Around it for ever deep music is swelling,  The voice of the mountain-wind, solemn and loud. 'Twas a midnight of shadows all fitfully streaming,  Of wild waves and breezes, that mingled their moan; Of dim shrouded stars, as from gulphs faintly gleaming,  And I met the dread gloom of its grandeur alone.
I lay there in silence—a Spirit came o'er me;  Man's tongue hath no language to speak what I saw; Things glorious, unearthly, pass'd floating before me,  And my heart almost fainted with rapture and awe! I viewed the dread beings, around us that hover,  Tho' veil'd by the mists of mortality's breath; And I called upon darkness the vision to cover,  For a strife was within me of madness and death.
I saw them—the powers of the wind and the ocean,  The rush of whose pinion bears onward the storms; Like the sweep of the white-rolling wave was their motion,  I felt their dim presence,—but knew not their forms!
I saw them—the mighty of ages departed—  The dead were around me that night on the hill: From their eyes, as they passed, a cold radiance they darted,  —There was light on my soul, but my heart's blood was chill.
I saw what man looks on, and dies—but my spirit  Was strong, and triumphantly liv'd thro' that hour; And as from the grave, I awoke to inherit  A flame all immortal, a voice, and a power! Day burst on that rock with the purple cloud crested,  And high Cader Idris rejoiced in the sun; —But oh! what new glory all nature invested, When the sense which gives soul to her beauty was won!
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Meeting of the Ships

THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS.
Two barks met on the deep mid-sea,  When calms had stilled the tide; A few bright days of summer glee  There found them side by side.
And voices of the fair and brave  Rose mingling thence in mirth; And sweetly floated o'er the wave  The melodies of earth.
Moonlight on that lone Indian main  Cloudless and lovely slept;— While dancing step, and festive strain  Each deck in triumph swept.
And hands were linked, and answering eyes  With kindly meaning shone; —Oh! brief and passing sympathies,  Like leaves together blown!
A little while such joy was cast  Over the deep's repose, Till the loud singing winds at last  Like trumpet music rose.
And proudly, freely on their way  The parting vessels bore; —In calm or storm, by rock or bay,  To meet—Oh! never more!
Never to blend in victory's cheer,  To aid in hours of woe:— And thus bright spirits mingle here,  Such ties are formed below!
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Music of St. Patrick's

THE MUSIC OF ST. PATRICK'S.
The choral music of St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin, is almost unrivalled in its combined powers of voice, organ, and scientific skill.—The majestic harmony of effect thus produced is not a little deepened by the character of the Church itself; which, though small, yet with its dark rich fret-work, knightly helmets and banners, and old monumental effigies, seems all filled and overshadowed by the spirit of chivalrous antiquity. The imagination never fails to recognize it as a fitting scene for high solemnities of old;—a place to witness the solitary vigil of arms, or to resound with the funeral march at the burial of some warlike King.
MUSIC OF ST. PATRICK'S.
All the choir Sang Hallelujah, as the sound of seas. Milton.
Again, oh! send that anthem peal again Thro' the arch'd roof in triumph to the sky! Bid the old tombs ring proudly to the strain, The banners thrill as if with victory!
Such sounds the warrior awe-struck might have heard, While arm'd for fields of chivalrous renown; Such the high hearts of Kings might well have stirr'd, While throbbing still beneath the recent crown,
Those notes once more!—they bear my soul away, They lend the wings of morning to its flight; No earthly passion in th' exulting lay, Whispers one tone to win me from that height.
All is of Heaven!—Yet wherefore to mine eye Gush the vain tears unbidden from their source? Ev'n while the waves of that strong harmony Roll with my spirit on their sounding course!
Wherefore must rapture its full heart reveal Thus by the burst of sorrow's token-shower? —Oh! is it not, that humbly we may feel Our nature's limit in its proudest hour?
# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Name of England

THE NAME OF ENGLAND.
The trumpet of the battle  Hath a high and thrilling tone; And the first deep gun of an ocean fight  Dread music all its own.
But a mightier power, my England!  Is in that name of thine, To strike the fire from every heart  Along the banner'd line.
Proudly it woke the spirits  Of yore, the brave and true, When the bow was bent on Cressy's field,  And the yeoman's arrow flew.
And proudly hath it floated  Through the battles of the sea, When the red-cross flag o'er smoke-wreaths play'd  Like the lightning in its glee.
On rock, on wave, on bastion,  Its echoes have been known, By a thousand streams the hearts lie low,  That have answered to its tone.
A thousand ancient mountains  Its pealing note hath stirr'd; —Sound on, and on, for evermore,  O thou victorious word!
# My Comforter

"Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught"
* "My Comforter" in Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
* "My Comforter" in The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë (1908)
# Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: Series I/Volume VI/Sermons/Sermon XLIV

Sermon XLIV.
[XCIV. Ben.]
On the words of the Gospel, Matt. xxv. 24, etc., where the slothful servant who would not put out the talent he had received, is condemned.
1. My lords, my brethren, and fellow bishops have deigned to visit us and gladden us by their presence; but I know not why they are unwilling to assist me, when wearied. I have said this to you, Beloved, in their hearing, that your hearing may in a manner intercede for me with them, that when I ask them they also may discourse unto you in their turn. Let them dispense what they have received, let them vouchsafe to work rather than excuse themselves. Be pleased, however, to hear from me, fatigued though I be and have difficulty in speaking, a few words only. For we have besides a record of God’s mercies vouchsafed through a holy Martyr, which we must give willing audience to altogether. What is it then? what shall I say unto you? Ye have heard in the Gospel both the due recompense of the good servants, and the punishment of the bad. And the whole wickedness of that servant who was reprobate and severely condemned, was that he would not put out his money to use. He kept the entire sum he had received; but the Lord looked for profit from it. God is coveteous with regard to our salvation. If he who did not put out to use is so condemned, what must they look for who lose what they have received? We then are the dispensers, we put out, ye receive. We look for profit; do ye live well. For this is the profit in our dealings with you. But do not think that this office of putting out to use does not belong to you also. Ye cannot execute it indeed from this elevated seat, but ye can wherever ye chance to be. Wherever Christ is attacked, defend Him; answer murmurers, rebuke blasphemers, from their fellowship keep yourselves apart. So do ye put out to use, if ye make gain of any. Discharge our office in your own houses. A bishop is called from hence, because he superintends, because he takes care and attends to others. To every man then, if he is the head of his own house, ought the office of the Episcopate to belong, to take care how his household believe, that none of them fall into heresy, neither wife, nor son, nor daughter, nor even his slave, because he has been bought at so great a price. The Apostolic teaching has set the master over the slave, and put the slave under the master; nevertheless Christ gave the same price for both. Do not neglect then the least of those belonging to you, look after the salvation of all your household with all vigilance. This if ye do, ye put out to use; ye will not be slothful servants, ye will not have to fear so horrible a condemnation.

## Footnotes

* ↑ Vid. Serm. xxix. (lxxix. Ben.).
* ↑ Meritum.
* ↑ Eph. vi. 5; Tit. ii. 9.
# Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: Series I/Volume IV/Donatist Controversy/Answer to the Letters of Petilian, the Donatist/Book II/Chapter 46

Chapter 46.—107. Petilianus said: "In the first Psalm David separates the blessed from the impious, not indeed making them into parties, but excluding all the impious from holiness. ‘Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners.’ Let him who had strayed from the path of righteousness, so that he should perish, return to it again. ‘Nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.’ When he gives this warning, O ye miserable men, why do you sit in that seat? ‘But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in His law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season: his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away.’ He blindeth their eyes, so that they should not see. ‘Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous. For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish.’"
108. Augustin answered: Who is there in the Scriptures that would not distinguish between these two classes of men? But you slanderously charge the corn with the offenses of the chaff; and being yourselves mere chaff, you boast yourselves to be the only corn. But the true prophets declare that both these classes have been mingled together throughout the whole world, that is, throughout the whole corn-field of the Lord, until the winnowing which is to take place on the day of judgment. But I advise you to read that first Psalm in the Greek version, and then you will not venture to reproach the whole world with being of the party of Macarius; because you will perhaps come to understand of what Macarius there is a party among all the saints, who throughout all nations are blessed in the seed of Abraham. For what stands in our language as "Blessed is the man," is in Greek Μαχάριος ἀνήρ. But that Macarius who offends you, if he is a bad man, neither belongs to this division, nor is to its prejudice. But if he is a good man, let him prove his own work, that he may have glory in himself alone, and not in another.

## Footnotes

* ↑ Et super cathedram pestilentiæ, cp. Hieron.
* ↑ Ps. i.
* ↑ Gal. vi. 4.
# Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: Series I/Volume IV/Donatist Controversy/Answer to the Letters of Petilian, the Donatist/Book II/Chapter 48

Chapter 48.—111. Petilianus said: "Yet that you should not call yourselves holy, in the first place, I declare that no one has holiness who has not led a life of innocence."
112. Augustin answered: Show us the tribunal where you have been enthroned as judge, that the whole world should stand for trial before you, and with what eyes you have inspected and discussed, I do not say the consciences, but even the acts of all men, that you should say that the whole world has lost its innocence. He who was carried up as far as the third heaven says, "Yea, I judge not mine own self;" and do you venture to pronounce sentence on the whole world, throughout which the inheritance of Christ is spread abroad? In the next place, if what you have said appears to you to be sufficiently certain, that "no one has holiness who has not led a life of innocence," I would ask you, if Saul had not the holiness of the sacrament, what was in him that David reverenced? But if he had innocence, why did he persecute the innocent? For it was on account of the sanctity of his anointing that David honored him while alive, and avenged him after he was dead; and because he cut off so much as a scrap from his garment, he trembled with a panic-stricken heart. Here you see that Saul had not innocence, and yet he had holiness,—not the personal holiness of a holy life (for that no one can have without innocence), but the holiness of the sacrament of God, which is holy even in unrighteous men.

## Footnotes

* ↑ 1 Cor. iv. 3.