OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Blossoming of the Solitary Date-Tree

I
Beneath the blaze of a tropical sun the mountain peaks are the Thrones of Frost, through the absence of objects to reflect the rays. `What no one with us shares, seems scarce our own.' The presence of a ONE,
 The best belov'd, who loveth me the best,
is for the heart, what the supporting air from within is for the hollow globe with its suspended car. Deprive it of this, and all without, that would have buoyed it aloft even to the seat of the gods, becomes a burthen and crushes it into flatness.
II
The finer the sense for the beautiful and the lovely, and the fairer and lovelier the object presented to the sense ; the more exquisite the individual's capacity of joy, and the more ample his means and opportunities of enjoyment, the more heavily will he feel the ache of solitariness, the more unsubstantial becomes the feast spread around him. What matters it, whether in fact the
viands and the ministering graces are shadowy or real, to him who has not hand to grasp nor arms to embrace them ?
III
Hope, Imagination, honourable Aims, Free Commune with the choir that cannot die, Science and Song, delight in little things, The buoyant child surviving in the man ; Fields, forests, ancient mountains, ocean, sky, With all their voices--O dare I accuse My earthly lot as guilty of my spleen, Or call my destiny niggard ! O no ! no ! It is her largeness, and her overflow, Which being incomplete, disquieteth me so !
IV
For never touch of gladness stirs my heart, But tim'rously beginning to rejoice Like a blind Arab, that from sleep doth start In lonesome tent, I listen for thy voice. Belovéd ! 'tis not thine ; thou art not there ! Then melts the bubble into idle air, And wishing without hope I restlessly despair.
V
The mother with anticipated glee Smiles o'er the child, that, standing by her chair And flatt'ning its round cheek upon her knee, Looks up, and doth its rosy lips prepare To mock the coming sounds. At that sweet sight She hears her own voice with a new delight ; And if the babe perchance should lisp the notes aright,
VI
Then is she tenfold gladder than before ! But should disease or chance the darling take, What then avail those songs, which sweet of yore Were only sweet for their sweet echo's sake ? Dear maid ! no prattler at a mother's knee Was e'er so dearly prized as I prize thee : Why was I made for Love and Love denied to me ?
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 American Cyclopædia (1879)/Isle of Wight (county)

Edition of 1879. See also Isle of Wight County, Virginia on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
ISLE OF WIGHT, a S. E. county of Virginia, bounded N. E. by the estuary of James river, and S. W. by the Blackwater; area, 400 sq. m. ; pop. in 1870, 8,320, of whom 3,446 were colored. The surface is generally, level and divided between swamps, pine forests, and farming lands. The soil is thin and sandy. The Norfolk and Petersburg and Seaboard and Roanoke railroads cross the county. The chief productions in 1870 were 160,733 bushels of Indian corn, 17,823 of oats, 17,957 of Irish and 30,411 of sweet potatoes, and 1,312 tons of hay. There were 829 horses, 1,226 milch cows, 2,237 other cattle, 1,510 sheep, 11,423 swine, and 6 saw mills. Capital, Smithfield.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Islington

Edition of 1879. See also Islington on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
ISLINGTON. See London.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Jackson (Michigan)

Edition of 1879. See also Jackson, Michigan on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
JACKSON, a city and the county seat of Jackson co., Michigan, on both banks of Grand river, near its source, 74 m. W. of Detroit and 36 m. S. by E. of. Lansing; pop. in 1850, 2,363; in 1860, 4,799; in 1870, 11,447, of whom 2,448 were foreigners. It is lighted with gas, and has paved streets, water works on the Holly system, and an efficient police force. There are two fine hotels and many excellent business structures. Several of the churches are handsome edifices, and the two union school houses are large and well arranged. An iron bridge has recently been built across the river. The Michigan state penitentiary, the buildings and walls of which are of stone, is situated here.
It occupies an enclosed area of eight acres. The main building is 500 ft. long, 57 broad, and 44 high. The city derives its chief importance from its position at the intersection of six railroads, viz.: the Michigan Central (main line); the Jackson branch of the Lake Shore and Michigan Southern; the Fort Wayne, Jackson, and Saginaw; and the Jackson, Lansing, and Saginaw, the Grand River Valley, and the Air-Line divisions of the Michigan Central. The last named company has lately erected here the finest passenger depot in the state; the building is of brick and stone, 294 ft. by 40, and is finely fitted up. The company has also extensive machine shops and other structures here. In the N. part of the city are two mines of bituminous coal, and a third 2 or 3 m. beyond the city limits, which yield a valuable product. The river furnishes good water power, and there are manufactories of chemicals, bricks, drain pipe, fire bricks, agricultural implements, wagons, and furniture, fonnderies, machine shops, a large rolling mill and nut, bolt, and spike factory, breweries, flour mills, planing mills, potteries, &c. The value of manufactures in 1872 was about $3,000,000. The sales of merchandise amounted to $3,230,500. There are four banks with an aggregate capital of $350,000. Besides the union schools there are eight ward school houses. The schools are graded, and in 1872 included two high, five grammar, and seven primary schools, with 40 teachers and 2,000 pupils. There are also a business college, a German Lutheran school, a young men's library of 2,500 volumes, two daily and two weekly newspapers, and 13 churches. Jackson became a city in 1857.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Isles of Shoals

Edition of 1879. See also Isles of Shoals on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
ISLES OF SHOALS, a group of islets in the Atlantic ocean, 10 m. S. E. of Portsmouth, N. H.; pop. in 1850, 131; in 1860, 152; in 1870, 94. Their names are Appledore or Hog island, Haley's or Smutty Nose, Malaga, Cedar, Duck, Gosport or Star, White, Seavey's, and Londoner's. Malaga is permanently connected with Haley's by a breakwater, and at low water Cedar is also connected with Haley's, and Seavey's with White. Star, White, Seavey's, and Londoner's islands form part of Rockingham co., N. H., and constitute the town of Gosport; the others belong to York co., Me. The three largest are Appledore, containing about 400 acres; Star, 150 acres; and Haley's, which with Cedar and Malaga comprises 100 acres. On White island, the western-most except Londoner's, is a lighthouse (lat. 42° 58' N., lon. 70° 37' 20" W.), with a revolving light 87 ft. above sea level, and visible 15 m. The islands consist of rugged ledges, and contain little vegetation. A steamer runs daily from Portsmouth in summer, accommodating the numerous visitors who resort hither to enjoy the sea air and the facilities for boating and fishing. On Appledore there is a large hotel, with the private residence of the proprietors. Star island contained nearly all the inhabitants, and had a church, a school, a monument to Capt. John Smith, erected in 1864, and the ruins of an old fort; but in 1872 a company bought out the inhabitants, and have built a large hotel for the accommodation of summer visitors. Haley's island has a wharf, a public house, and a few buildings. The islands are believed to have been discovered by Champlain in 1605. They were visited by Capt. John Smith in 1614, who called them Smith's islands, but the name was not retained. They were early visited by fishermen, and the
fisheries have been the chief support of the inhabitants. During the revolution most of the inhabitants, who for more than a century had numbered from 300 to 400, removed to the mainland. — Mrs. Celia Thaxter, who resides on Appledore, and whose father was for six years keeper of the lighthouse on White island, has published a volume descriptive of the islands (“Among the Isles of Shoals,” Boston, 1873), and a number of poems illustrative of them.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Isle of Wight

Edition of 1879. See also Isle of Wight on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
ISLE OF WIGHT, England. See Wight.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Ismälians

Edition of 1879. See also the disclaimer.
ISMÄLIANS. See Assassins.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Auld Peter M'Gowan

Auld Peter M'Gowan.
[Francis Bennoch.—Tune, "Bung your eye," now better known by the title of "The brisk young lad," &c.—Here first printed.]
Auld Peter M'Gowan cam' down the craft, An' rubb'd his han's, and fidg'd and laugh'd— O little thocht he o' his wrinkled chaft As he wanted me to lo'e. He patted my brow, an' stroked my chin, He roosed my e'en an' sleek white skin, Syne fain wad kiss—but the laugh within Cam' rattling out, I trew. Oh, sirs! but he was a braw auld carle, Wi' rings o' gowd, an' brooch o' pearl, An' aye he spak' o' his frien' the earl, An' thocht he was courting me.
He spak' o' his gear an' acres wide, O' his bawsan'd yaud that I should ride, Gin I wad be his bonnie wee bride, Returning lo'e for lo'e; That I a lady to kirk should gang— Ha'e writ my virtues in a sang, But I snapp'd my thumbs and I said, "Gae hang Gin naething mair ye can do!" Oh, sirs! but he look'd a silly auld man, Nae langer he spak' o' his gear an' lan', An' through the town like lichtnin' ran The tale o' auld Peter's lo'e.
An' sae the auld carle speiled up the craft, An' raved an' stamp'd like ane gane daft, Till the tear trickled owre his burning chaft, Sin' he couldna mak' me lo'e. It's better for me to be single, I said, Then as warming pan in an auld man's bed, He will be cunning that gars me wed Wi' ane that I canna lo'e. Na! na! he maun be a braw young lad, A canty lad—a spunky lad, O he maun be a spirited lad Wha thinks to win my lo'e.
# The Book of Scottish Song/As gloaming was drawing

As gloaming was drawing.
[John Fleming.—Air, "Lucy's Flitting."]
As gloaming was drawing her veil o'er the mountains, And tinging with azure the far distant hill; And, save the small rills from the moss-cover'd fountains, The lone face of nature was silent and still.
How sweetly the stream of the valley meander'd, And sweet was the scent of the hoar hawthorn tree; Thus allured by the beauties of nature I wander'd To where the small streamlet was lost in the sea.
And there sat a maiden, lamenting her lover, Responsive she sigh'd to the slow-heaving wave: "Thy cares and thy sorrows, dear Edward, are over," She said, "Though the wild weltering deep is thy grave."
Oh, thine was a bosom once fraught with affection, Yes, thine was a heart that to friendship was dear; Pure virtue has found in thy bosom protection,— Thy bright eye to pity denied not a tear.
Oh, hope, gentle hope, thou art gone, yes, for ever, No more thy bright bcims can illumine my mind; For in this lone bosom shall flourish for ever Wild stems of despair with distraction entwined.
Roll slowly, roll slowly, thou dark-heaving billow, Roll slowly along o'er the bed of the brave; Oh, move not his head from his soft sandy pillow, But heave the soft sea-weeds along by his grave.
And mine be the task in the stillness of gloaming, To view the smooth waters that cover his bed; And when the winds blow and the billows are foaming, Oh, then shall the tears of remembrance be shed.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Auchtertool

Auchtertool.
[Written by Alex. Wilson of Paisley, the author of "Watty and Meg," and the great ornithologist of America. This was a youthful production of Wilson's, and seems to have been occasioned by certain inhospitable treatment which he had received at Auchtertool, a small village in Fifeshire, while travelling the country as a pedlar. His experience of the fatigues of a pedlar's life, and of the indignities to which it was occasionally exposed, was only fitting him all the better for his afterwards glorious career—when he I had to travel through immeasurable tracts of the woods of America, in search of his favourite birds, and subject himself to the unsympathising rudeness of the early settlers there, who could not comprehend the enthusiasm, or be brought to patronize the exertions, of the young naturalist. The song is marked, in the volume of his poems published at Paisley in 1790, to the tune of "One bottle more."]
From the village of Lesly with a heart full of glee, And my pack on my shoulders, I rambled out free, Resolved that same evening, as Luna was full, To lodge ten miles distant, in old Auchtertool.
Through many a lone cottage and farm-house I steer'd, Took their money,and off with my budget I sheer'd; The road I explored out, without form or rule, Still asking the nearest to old Auchtertool.
A clown I accosted, inquiring the road, He stared like an idiot, then roar'd out, "Gude G-d! Gin ye're ga'n there for quarters, ye're surely a fool, For there's nought but starvation in auld Auchtertool!"
Unminding his nonsense, my march I pursued, Till I came to a hill top, where joyful I viev'd, Surrounded with mountains, and many a white pool, The small smoky village of old Auchtertool.
At length I arrived at the edge of the town, As Phœbus behind a high mountain went down; The clouds gather'd dreary, and weather blew foul, And I hugg'd myself safe now in old Auchtertool. ​An inn I inquired out, a lodging desired, But the Landlady's pertness seem'd instantly fired; For she saucy replied, as she sat carding wool, "I ne'er kept sic lodgers in auld Auchtertool."
With scorn I soon left her to live on her pride; But, asking, was told, there was none else beside, Except an old Weaver, who now kept a school, And these were the whole that were in Auchtertool.
To his mansion I scamper'd, and rapt at the door, He op'd, but as soon as I dared to implore, He shut it like thunder, and utter'd a howl, That rung thro' each corner of old Auchtertool.
Provoked now to fury, the Dominie I curst, And offer'd to cudgel the wretch, if he durst; But the door he fast bolted, tho' Boreas blew cool, And left me all friendless in old Auchtertool.
Deprived of all shelter, through darkness I trod, Till I came to a ruin'd old house by the road; Here the night I will spend, and, inspired by the owl, I'll send up some prayers for old Auchtertool.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Auld Lang Syne 1

Auld Lang Syne.
[Written by Ramsay, and published in the first vol. of his Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.]
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, Though they return with scars? These are the noble hero's lot, Obtain'd in glorious wars: Welcome, my Varo, to my breast, Thy arms about me twine, And make me once again as blest, As I was lang syne.
Methinks around us on each bough, A thousand Cupids play, Whilst through the groves I walk with you, Each object makes me gay. Since your return the sun and moon With brighter beams do shine, Streams murmur soft notes while they run, As they did lang syne.
Despise the court and din of state; Let that to their share fall, Who can esteem such slavery great, While bounded like a ball: But sunk in love, upon my arms Let your brave head recline, We'll please ourselves with mutual charms, As we did lang syne.
O'er moor and dale, with your gay friend, You may pursue the chace, And, after a blythe bottle, end All cares in my embrace: And in a vacant rainy day You shall be wholly mine; We'll make the hours run smooth away, And laugh at lang syne.
The hero, pleased with the sweet air, And signs of generous love, Which had been utter'd by the fair, Bow'd to the powers above: Next day, with consent and glad haste, They approach'd the sacred shrine; Where the good priest the couple blest. And put them out of pine.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Auld Rob Morris 1

Auld Rob Morris.
[This is given in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, as an old song. Ramsay, however, was obliged to curtail the original ballad on account of its coarseness. The tune of "Auld Rob Morris" is in an old MS. collection, dated 1692, belonging at one time to Mr. Blaikie, engraver, Paisley, called "Jock the Laird's Brother."]
MOTHER.
Auld Rob Morris, that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' guid fallows, and wale o' auld men; He has fourscore o' black sheep, and fourscore too; Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e.
DAUGHTER.
Haud your tongue, mother, and let that abee; For his eild and my eild can never agree: They'll never agree, and that will be seen, For he is fourscore, and I'm but fifteen.
MOTHER.
Haud your tongue, dochter, and lay by your pride, For he is the bridegroom, and ye'se be the bride; He shall lie by your side, and kiss you too; Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e.
DAUGHTER.
Auld Rob Morris, I ken him fu' weel, His bac' sticks out like ony peat-creel; He's out-shinn'd, in-kneed, and ringle-eyed too; Auld Rob Morris is the man I'll ne'er lo'e.
MOTHER.
Though auld Rob Morris be an elderly man, Yet his auld brass will buy you a new pan; Then, dochter, ye should na be sae ill to shoe, For auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e.
DAUGHTER.
But auld Rob Morris I never will ha'e, His back is so stiff, and his beard is grown gray; I had rather die than live wi' him a year; Sae mair o' Rob Morris I never will hear.
# The Book of Scottish Song/At setting day

At setting day.
[From Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd."—Tune, "The Bush aboon Traquair."]
At setting day and rising morn, With soul that still shall love thee, I'll ask of heaven thy safe return, With all that can improve thee. I'll visit oft the birken bush, Where first thou kindly told me Sweet tales of love, and hid my blush, Whilst round thou didst enfold me.
To all our haunts I will repair, By greenwood, shaw, or fountain; Or where the summer day I'd share With thee upon yon mountain. There will I tell the trees and flowers, From thoughts unfeign'd and tender, By vows you're mine, by love is yours A heart which cannot wander.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Auld Janet Baird

Auld Janet Baird.
[Air, "Johnnie M'Gill," or "The Laird o' Cockpen."]
Auld Janet Baird, auld Janet Baird, A wonderfu' woman was auld Janet Baird, Come gentle or semple, come cadger or caird, A groat made them welcome wi' auld Janet Baird.
Auld Janet Baird was a changewife o' fame, Wha keepit guid liquor, as weel's a guide name;
Could pray wi' the priest, an' could laugh wi' the laird, For learned an' leesome was auld Janet Baird.
Auld Janet could brew a browst o' guid ale, An' baket guid bannocks to quicken its sale, An' while that a customer's pouch held a plack, Auld Janet ne'er fail'd in her sang or her crack.
Auld Janet Baird was baith gaucy and sleek, Wi' the cherry's dark red on her lip and her cheek, Wi' a temper and tongue like a fiddle in tune, An' merry an' licht as a laverock in June.
Auld Janet Baird had a purse fu' o' gowd, A but an' a ben wi' guid plenishin' stow'd, A kist fu' o' naiprie, a cow, and kail yard; An' wha was sae bein or sae braw's Janet Baird?
Auld Janet grew wanton, auld Janet grew braw, Wore new-fangled mutches, red ribbons, an' a', At bridal or blythe-meat, at preachin' or fair, The priest might be absent, but Janet was there.
Auld Janet grew skeich, an' auld Janet grew crouse, An' she thocht a guidman a great mense to a house, And aft to herself she wad sich and complain, "O, woman's a wearifu' creature alane!"
The clack o' sic beinness brought customers routh, To crack wi' the carlin, an' slocken their drouth, An' mony's the wooer who vow'd and declared, He'd sell his best yaud to win auld Janet Baird.
But Janet had secretly nourished for lang A sort of love-liking for honest Laird Strang; "He's sober an' civil—his youth can be spared; He'd mak' a douce husband," quoth auld Janet Baird.
The wooer that's hooly is oftentimes crost,
An' words wared on courtin' are often words lost; "For better for waur, here's my loof," quoth the Laird; "Content; it's a bargain," quoth auld Janet Baird.
The marriage was settled, the bridal day set, The priest, an' the piper, an' kindred were met, They've wedded an' bedded, an' sickerly pair'd, She's now Mrs. Strang that was auld Janet Baird.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Auld John Nicol

Auld John Nicol.
[James Hogg.]
I'll sing of an auld forbear of my ain, Tweeddlum, twaddlum, twenty-one, A man that for fun was never outdone, And his name it was Auld John Nicol o' Whun. Auld John Nicol he lo'ed his glass, Tweedlum, twaddlum, twenty-one, An' weel he likit the toast to pass, An' it's hey for brave John Nicol o' Whun!
Auld John Nicol gaed out to fight, &c. But a' gaed wrang that should ha'e gane right, &c. Then auld John Nicol kneel'd down to pray, But never a word John Nicol could say.
Auld John Nicol he lo'ed a lass, But I darena tell you what came to pass, For the beadle came up in an unco haste, An' summon'd him down to speak wi' the priest.
Then auld John Nicol he chamred his hue, For his face it grew red, an' his face it grew blue. John Nicol gaed out, John Nicol gaed in, An' he wish'd he had been in the well to the chin.
"Shame fa' it!" quo' John, "I often ha'e thought Wha wins at woman will lose at nought; But I ha'e heart to do ill to nane, Sae I will e'en mak' the lassie my ain."
Then Auld John Nicol he got a wife, And he never got siccan fun in his life;— Now, John Nicol he sings frae morn till e'en, Tweeddlum, twaddlum, twenty-one, The happiest man that ever was seen, An' it's hey for brave John Nicol o' Whun!
# The Book of Scottish Song/Auld Lang Syne 2

Auld Lang Syne.
[The following is the version of "Auld Lang Syne" which Burns communicated to Johnson's Museum, and which has since become so universal a favourite. In the Museum it is marked with a Z, signifying that it is an old song with additions and alterations. In his correspondence both with Mrs. Dunlop and Mr. Thomson, Burns says that he took the song down from the singing of an old man—and we are inclined to believe this partially. The first, fourth, and fifth verses seem fragments of an old ditty: the second and third verses betray the tenderness and sentiment of the poet himself. Had Burns been the sole author of the song, we cannot see how he would have spoken with such raptures regarding it. "Light be the turf," he says, "on the breast of the heaven-inspired poet who composed this glorious fragment!"—The air to which "Auld Lang Syne" is now generally sung is not the original one, which Burns pronounced to be mediocre, but ​one adopted from an old Lowland melody, called "I fee'd a lad at Michaelmas," and now entitled in Gow's collection of Reels, "Sir Alexander Don's Strathspey."]
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne? For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne.
We twa ha'e run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine; But we've wander'd mony a weary fit, Sin' auld lang syne.
We twa ha'e paid'lt in the burn, Frae morning sun till dine; But seas between us braid ha'e roar'd, Sin' auld lang syne.
And there's a hand, my trusty frien', And gi'e's a haud o' thine; And we'll tak' a richt gude-willie waught, For auld lang syne.
And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup, And surely I'll be mine; And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Cold

Edition of 1879. See also Common cold on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
​COLD. See Catarrh.