OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Hawfinch

Edition of 1879. See also Hawfinch on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
HAWFINCH, a conirostral bird, of the family fringillidæ and genus coccothraustes (Briss.). The common European hawfinch (C. vulgaris, Briss.) has a very large bill and head, like other grosbeaks; the neck is short and thick, and the body and limbs are proportionally small. In the male the head is yellowish brown, with the throat and space before the eyes black; fore part of back dark chestnut, the rest brownish gray, shading on the upper tail coverts into yellowish brown; wings with purple gloss and white spots; tail black, the outer feathers with a terminal white spot on the inner web, the inner gray toward the end and tipped with white; below pale yellowish brown; under tail coverts white; the bill flesh-colored, tipped with dusky; the fifth to the eighth primaries have their tips emarginate and the external margins falcate; the ninth, tenth, and five of the secondaries are truncated, the inner edge of the tips rounded, and the outer sharp; the tail is short and straight. The female resembles the male, but the colors are paler. The length is about 7 in., and the extent of wings 11 in. Specimens are often seen more varied with white. It is found in the mountainous and elevated regions of Europe, and is an irregular visitant of Great Britain. It feeds on the seeds of various trees, especially the hornbeam, plane, pines, and cherry, on the kernels of the haws, plum, &c., on laurel berries, and in the summer on various garden vegetables, particularly green peas. The song is pleasant, but plaintive. The nest is very elaborately constructed, of the usual materials, on the highest branches of trees, and the eggs, three to five, are of a pale olive green, with black spots, and irregular streaks of dusky; the young are hatched toward the end of May, and resemble the young green finch; the bill becomes deep blue in the breeding season.
Hawfinch (Coccothraustes vulgaris).
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Haxthausen, Franz Ludwig Marie August

Edition of 1879. See also August von Haxthausen on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
HAXTHAUSEN, Franz Ludwig Marie August, baron, a German author, born near Paderborn, Feb. 3, 1792, died in Hanover, Dec. 31, 1866. He was a wealthy land owner, served in the army, studied at Göttingen, and travelled extensively, especially in Russia. His works include Die Agrarverfassung und ihre Conflicte (Berlin, 1829); Die ländliche Verfassung der Provinz Preussen (Königsberg, 1838); Studien über die innern Zustände, das Volksleben und insbesondere die ländlichen Einrichtungen
Russlands (3 vols., Hanover, 1847-'52), a book which attracted great attention in Russia; Transkaukasia (2 vols., Leipsic, 1856); Das constitutionelle Princip (French and German, 2 vols., 1865); and Die ländliche Verfassung Russlands (1866).
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Hebbel, Friedrich

Edition of 1879. See also Christian Friedrich Hebbel on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
HEBBEL, Friedrich, a German lyric and dramatic poet, born at Wesselburen, Holstein, March 18, 1813, died in Vienna, Dec. 13, 1863. He was the son of a farmer, was educated at Heidelberg, and went to Hamburg, where in 1841 he wrote his tragedy of Judith, which was immediately successful. He then visited Copenhagen, Paris, London, and Naples, and in 1846 settled in Vienna, where he married the actress Christine Enghaus. Among his other dramas are Genoveva (1843), Maria Magdalena (1844), Der Diamant (1847), Herodes und Mariamne (1850), Julia (1851), Michel Angelo (1855), and Die Nibelungen (2 vols., 1862). A complete edition of his works was issued at Hamburg in 12 vols., 1865-'8. They are characterized by boldness, vigor, and originality, with a predilection for the horrible.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Haverstraw

Edition of 1879. See also Haverstraw, New York on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
HAVERSTRAW, a town of Rockland co., New York, on the W. bank of the Hudson river, opposite Peekskill, and 32 m. N. of New York city hall; pop. in 1870, 6,412. The principal village is situated on the margin of the river, and is overhung by a line of limestone cliffs, which produce large quantities of lime. About 2 m. above is the village of Grassy Point. The principal business is the manufacture of bricks. The village contains a bank, a select school, two hotels, a weekly newspaper, print works, a foundery, a ship-building establishment, and three cigar factories. The town also contains the incorporated village of Warren, situated in the S. part. Stony Point, famous in the revolutionary war, is just above Haverstraw, from which it was separated in 1865.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Havre de Grace

Edition of 1879. See also Havre de Grace, Maryland on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
HAVRE DE GRACE, a town of Harford co., Maryland, on the W. bank of the Susquehanna river, near its mouth in Chesapeake bay, 35 m. N. E. of Baltimore; pop. in 1870, 2,281, of whom 441 were colored. It is the S. terminus
of the Tidewater canal, and the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore railroad here crosses the river on a bridge 3,271 ft. long, completed in 1867 at a cost of more than $1,250,000. The town is noted for its scenery, and has considerable trade in coal, and a weekly newspaper. It was laid out in 1776, and was burned by the British in the war of 1812.
# That Mesmerizing Mendelssohn Tune

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
[1st verse:] Honey, listen to that dreamy tune they're playin' Won't you tell me how on earth you keep from swayin'? Umm! Umm! Oh, that Mendelssohn Spring Song tune If you ever loved me show me now or never Lord, I wish they'd play that music on forever Umm! Umm! Oh, that Mendelssohn tune My honey.
[Refrain:] Love me to that ever lovin' Spring Song melody Please me, honey, squeeze me to that Mendelssohn strain Kiss me like you would your mother One good kiss deserves another That's the only music that was ever meant for me That tantalizin', hypnotizin', mesmerizin' Mendelssohn tune.
[2nd verse:] Don't you stand there, honey, can't you hear me sighin'? Is you gwine to wait until I'm almost dyin'? Umm! Umm! Oh, that Mendelssohn Spring Song tune Get yourself acquainted with some real live wooin' Make some funny noises like there's something doin' Umm! Umm! Oh, that Mendelssohn tune My honey.
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 1989, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 34 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
# That Mysterious Rag

[1st verse:]
Did you hear it? Were you near it?
If you weren't then you've yet to fear it;
Once you've met it you'll regret it,
Just because you never will forget it.
If you ever wake up from your dreaming,
A-scheming, eyes gleaming,
Then if suddenly you take a screaming fit,
That's it!
[Refrain:]
That mysterious ra-ag
While awake or while you're a-slumbering,
You're saying, keep playing
That mysterious dra-ag
Are you listenin'?
Are you listenin'?
Look! Look!
You're whistlin'
That mysterious ra-ag
Sneaky, freaky ever melodious, mysterious rag.
[2nd verse:]
Any minute they begin it
E'er you know what you're about, you're in it
Then a feeling, most appealing
Comes a-stealing, sets your brain a-reeling.
When it's too late and ev'ryone is yawning,
Good morning, day dawning,
Then if suddenly you hear a warning shout,
Look out!
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 1989, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 34 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
# That Royle Girl

A silent comedy film of the same name based on this novel, directed by D. W. Griffith, was produced in 1925. That film is now considered lost, and in 1980, the American Film Institute included this film among its list of the "Ten Most Wanted" lost films of all time.
THAT ROYLE GIRL
THAT ROYLE GIRL
* Chapter 1
* Chapter 2
* Chapter 3
* Chapter 4
* Chapter 5
* Chapter 6
* Chapter 7
* Chapter 8
* Chapter 9
* Chapter 10
* Chapter 11
* Chapter 12
* Chapter 13
* Chapter 14
* Chapter 15
* Chapter 16
* Chapter 17
* Chapter 18
* Chapter 19
* Chapter 20
* Chapter 21
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 1959, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 64 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
# Sonnets attempted in the manner of Contemporary Writers

Published in The Monthly Magazine, November 1797, p. 374, under the name Nehemiah Higgenbottom, these three sonnets parody Charles Lamb, Charles Lloyd, and himself.
SONNETS attempted in the manner of Contemporary Writers
* SONNET I
* SONNET II [To Simplicity]
* SONNET III [On a Ruined House in a Romantic Country]
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
# Sonnets from the Crimea

Sonnets from the Crimea
By Adam Mickiewicz
Translated by
Edna Worthley Underwood
MCMXVII
Paul Elder and Company, Publisher
San Francisco
Copyright, 1917, by Paul Elder and Company San Francisco
CONTENTS
​Here, then, end the Crimean Sonnets of the immortal hero of Polish poetry, Adam Mickiewicz as translated by Edna Worthley Underwood and published by Paul Elder and Company at their Tomoye Press, in the city of San Francisco, under the direction of Ricardo J. Orozco, their printer during the month of August, nineteen seventeen
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# Sonnets from the Crimea/Alushta by Night

ALUSHTA BY NIGHT
The drooping, weary day night pushed aside; On Tschatir Dagh the sullen sun and low Paints phantom purple upon ancient snow; While forest ways within, the wanderers hide. Night veils the mountains and the valleys wide; The thunderous brooks are dream-held, dulled, and slow; Beneath the blackness fragrant flowers blow And rich leaf-music clothes each valley side.
Almost my waking eyes are dream-held too; With gold a meteor marks the deep-domed sky And fountain-like the fiery sparks float by. Oh! Beauty of the Eastern Night, you woo My spirit like the odalisque, who held Men captive till her kiss the dream dispelled!
# Sonnets from the Crimea/Baktschi Serai by Night

BAKTSCHI SERAI BY NIGHT
From out the mosques the pious wend their way; Muezzin voices tremble through the night; Within the sky the pallid King of Light Wraps silvered ermine round him while he may, And Heaven's harem greets its star array. One lone white cloud rests in the azure height— A veiled court lady in some sorrow's plight— Whom cruel love and day have cast away.
The mosques stand there; and here tall cypress trees; There—mountains, towering, black as demons frown, Which Lucifer in rage from God cast down. Like sword blades lightning flickers over these, And on an Arab steed the wild Khan rides Who goes to Baktschi Serai which night hides.
# Sonnets from the Crimea/Baydary

BAYDARY
Give wings unto the storm, and spurs to steed, I'd move unchained as wind across the world, Sweep onward like a torrent mountain-hurled, Nor sea, nor height, nor valley pause to heed. The twilight spreads a dimness o'er our speed, And shows the diamond-stars from hoofs up-whirled, Since daylight now her curtained blue has furled, And mystery and magic shadows breed.
The earth sleeps, but not I—not I—not I— Who hasten to the shore where waves are loud And toward me in the darkness whitely crowd. Beneath them I would still my soul's deep cry— Like ships the whirlpools seize to drag to death— I'd plunge within the silence, sans thought, breath.
# Sonnets from the Crimea/(Mirza)

(MIRZA)
Behold blue Heaven in that deep abyss! The sea is that! Behold the long waves shine! Watch how they rock that giant bird divine, Whose swinging white wings wide horizons kiss. Is that an iceberg in the blue abyss? No, no—a cloud! Watch how 'tis veiling fine The sea, the land, out-blotting every line To drown it all in darkness soon I wis.
The lightning comes now! Frightful is its sweep. But softly—softly! Watch my spur—my whip! I'll leap across unto that chasm's lip. What still and chilling sternness great cliffs keep! Down there light calls to me. Soon there I'll be. Uncanny is such loneliness to me.
# Sonnets from the Crimea/Alushta by Day

ALUSHTA BY DAY
The mighty mountain flings its mist-veil down; With little flowers the gracious fields are bright, And from the forest colors flash to sight Like gems that drop from off a Calif's crown. Upon the meadows settles shimmering down A band of butterflies in rainbow flight; Cicadas call and call in day's delight, And bees are dreaming in a blossom's crown.
The waves beneath the cliff are thunder-pale, Now upward, upward in their rage they rise And tawny are their crests as tigers' eyes. The sun is focused on one white, far sail And on blue, shining deeps as smooth as glass Wherein slim cranes are shadowed as they pass.
# Sonnets from the Crimea/Baktschi Serai

BAKTSCHI SERAI
In ruin are the spacious, splendid halls With frozen forest of white columns where The Tartar Khan his palace builded fair, Where loneliest the shrilling cricket calls. The ivy blackens over shining walls Enscribing in gigantic letters there Some curse Belshazzar-like: Beware! Beware!— Then black as crêpe from crested columns falls.
Within the burnished banquet room there sings The fountain of the harem pure and clear, Just as of old it sang in twilights drear. But whither love and fame speed—on what wings? When all things else must perish these endure! Yet both are gone! The fountain ripples pure.
# Sonnets from the Crimea/Becalmed

BECALMED
The flag is listless, limp. It dances not. As deep the sea breathes from a gentle breast As any bride who dreams at love's behest, And wakes and sighs, then casts with dreams her lot. Sails hang upon the masts—useless—forgot— Like folded standards which the warriors wrest And bring home broken from the battle's crest. The sailors rest them in some sheltered spot.
O Sea! within your unknown deeps concealed, When storms are wild, your monsters dream and sleep, And all their cruelty for the sunlight keep. Thus, Soul of Mine, in your sad deeps concealed The monsters sleep—when wild are storms. They start From out some blue sky's peace to seize my heart.
# Tales of a Wayside Inn/Part Third/The Poet's Tale/Interlude

Well pleased all listened to the tale,: That drew, the Student said, its pith And marrow from the ancient myth Of some one with an iron flail; Or that portentous Man of Brass Hephaestus made in days of yore, Who stalked about the Cretan shore, And saw the ships appear and pass, And threw stones at the Argonauts, Being filled with indiscriminate ire That tangled and perplexed his thoughts; But, like a hospitable host, When strangers landed on the coast, Heated himself red-hot with fire, And hugged them in his arms, and pressed Their bodies to his burning breast.
The Poet answered: "No, not thus The legend rose; it sprang at first Out of the hunger and the thirst In all men for the marvellous. And thus it filled and satisfied The imagination of mankind, And this ideal to the mind Was truer than historic fact. Fancy enlarged and multiplied The tenors of the awful name Of Charlemagne, till he became Armipotent in every act, And, clothed in mystery, appeared Not what men saw, but what they feared. Besides, unless my memory fail, Your some one with an iron flail Is not an ancient myth at all, But comes much later on the scene As Talus in the Faerie Queene, The iron groom of Artegall, Who threshed out falsehood and deceit, And truth upheld, and righted wrong, As was, as is the swallow, fleet, And as the lion is, was strong."
The Theologian said: "Perchance Your chronicler in writing this Had in his mind the Anabasis, Where Xenophon describes the advance Of Artaxerxes to the fight; At first the low gray cloud of dust, And then a blackness o'er the fields As of a passing thunder-gust, Then flash of brazen armor bright, And ranks of men, and spears up-thrust, Bowmen and troops with wicker shields, And cavalry equipped in white, And chariots ranged in front of these With scythes upon their axle-trees."
To this the Student answered: "Well, I also have a tale to tell Of Charlemagne; a tale that throws A softer light, more tinged with rose, Than your grim apparition cast Upon the darkness of the past. Listen, and hear in English rhyme What the good Monk of Lauresheim Gives as the gossip of his time, In mediaeval Latin prose."
# Tales of a Wayside Inn/Part Third/The Sicilian's Tale/Interlude

"Signor Luigi," said the Jew,: When the Sicilian's tale was told, "The were-wolf is a legend old, But the were-ass is something new, And yet for one I think it true. The days of wonder have not ceased If there are beasts in forms of men, As sure it happens now and then, Why may not man become a beast, In way of punishment at least?"
"But this I will not now discuss, I leave the theme, that we may thus Remain within the realm of song. The story that I told before, Though not acceptable to all, At least you did not find too long. I beg you, let me try again, With something in a different vein, Before you bid the curtain fall. Meanwhile keep watch upon the door, Nor let the Landlord leave his chair, Lest he should vanish into air, And thus elude our search once more."
Thus saying, from his lips he blew A little cloud of perfumed breath, And then, as if it were a clew To lead his footsteps safely through, Began his tale as followeth.
# Tales of a Wayside Inn/Part Third/The Spanish Jew's Tale/Azrael

King Solomon, before his palace gate: At evening, on the pavement tessellate Was walking with a stranger from the East, Arrayed in rich attire as for a feast, The mighty Runjeet-Sing, a learned man, And Rajah of the realms of Hindostan. And as they walked the guest became aware Of a white figure in the twilight air, Gazing intent, as one who with surprise His form and features seemed to recognize; And in a whisper to the king he said: "What is yon shape, that, pallid as the dead, Is watching me, as if he sought to trace In the dim light the features of my face?"
The king looked, and replied: "I know him well; It is the Angel men call Azrael, 'T is the Death Angel; what hast thou to fear?" And the guest answered: "Lest he should come near, And speak to me, and take away my breath! Save me from Azrael, save me from death! O king, that hast dominion o'er the wind, Bid it arise and bear me hence to Ind."
The king gazed upward at the cloudless sky, Whispered a word, and raised his hand on high, And lo! the signet-ring of chrysoprase On his uplifted finger seemed to blaze With hidden fire, and rushing from the west There came a mighty wind, and seized the guest And lifted him from earth, and on they passed, His shining garments streaming in the blast, A silken banner o'er the walls upreared, A purple cloud, that gleamed and disappeared. Then said the Angel, smiling: "If this man Be Rajah Runjeet-Sing of Hindostan, Thou hast done well in listening to his prayer; I was upon my way to seek him there."
# Tales of a Wayside Inn/Part Third/The Spanish Jew's Tale/Interlude

"O Edrehi, forbear to-night: Your ghostly legends of affright, And let the Talmud rest in peace; Spare us your dismal tales of death That almost take away one's breath; So doing, may your tribe increase."
Thus the Sicilian said; then went And on the spinet's rattling keys Played Marianina, like a breeze From Naples and the Southern seas, That brings us the delicious scent Of citron and of orange trees, And memories of soft days of ease At Capri and Amalfi spent.
"Not so," the eager Poet said; "At least, not so before I tell The story of my Azrael, An angel mortal as ourselves, Which in an ancient tome I found Upon a convent's dusty shelves, Chained with an iron chain, and bound In parchment, and with clasps of brass, Lest from its prison, some dark day, It might be stolen or steal away, While the good friars were singing mass."
"It is a tale of Charlemagne, When like a thunder-cloud, that lowers And sweeps from mountain-crest to coast, With lightning flaming through its showers, He swept across the Lombard plain, Beleaguering with his warlike train Pavia, the country's pride and boast, The City of the Hundred Towers." Thus heralded the tale began, And thus in sober measure ran.
# Tales of a Wayside Inn/Part Third/The Poet's Tale/Charlemagne

Olger the Dane and Desiderio,: King of the Lombards, on a lofty tower Stood gazing northward o'er the rolling plains, League after league of harvests, to the foot Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw approach A mighty army, thronging all the roads That led into the city. And the King Said unto Olger, who had passed his youth As hostage at the court of France, and knew The Emperor's form and face "Is Charlemagne Among that host?" And Olger answered: "No."
And still the innumerable multitude Flowed onward and increased, until the King Cried in amazement: "Surely Charlemagne Is coming in the midst of all these knights!" And Olger answered slowly: "No; not yet; He will not come so soon." Then much disturbed King Desiderio asked: "What shall we do, if he approach with a still greater army!" And Olger answered: "When he shall appear, You will behold what manner of man he is; But what will then befall us I know not."
Then came the guard that never knew repose, The Paladins of France; and at the sight The Lombard King o'ercome with terror cried: "This must be Charlemagne!" and as before Did Olger answer: "No; not yet, not yet."
And then appeared in panoply complete The Bishops and the Abbots and the Priests Of the imperial chapel, and the Counts And Desiderio could no more endure The light of day, nor yet encounter death, But sobbed aloud and said: "Let us go down And hide us in the bosom of the earth, Far from the sight and anger of a foe So terrible as this!" And Olger said: "When you behold the harvests in the fields Shaking with fear, the Po and the Ticino Lashing the city walls with iron waves, Then may you know that Charlemagne is come." And even as he spake, in the northwest, Lo! there uprose a black and threatening cloud, Out of whose bosom flashed the light of arms Upon the people pent up in the city; A light more terrible than any darkness; And Charlemagne appeared;--a Man of Iron!
His helmet was of iron, and his gloves Of iron, and his breastplate and his greaves And tassets were of iron, and his shield. In his left hand he held an iron spear, In his right hand his sword invincible. The horse he rode on had the strength of iron, And color of iron. All who went before him Beside him and behind him, his whole host, Were armed with iron, and their hearts within them Were stronger than the armor that they wore. The fields and all the roads were filled with iron, And points of iron glistened in the sun And shed a terror through the city streets.
This at a single glance Olger the Dane Saw from the tower, and turning to the King Exclaimed in haste: "Behold! this is the man You looked for with such eagerness!" and then Fell as one dead at Desiderio's feet.