OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems (Seeger)/Juvenilia/Tithonus

TITHONUS
So when the verdure of his life was shed, With all the grace of ripened manlihead, And on his locks, but now so lovable, Old age like desolating winter fell, Leaving them white and flowerless and forlorn: Then from his bed the Goddess of the Morn Softly withheld, yet cherished him no less With pious works of pitying tenderness; Till when at length with vacant, heedless eyes, And hoary height bent down none otherwise Than burdened willows bend beneath their weight Of snow when winter winds turn temperate,— So bowed with years—when still he lingered on: Then to the daughter of Hyperion This counsel seemed the best: for she, afar By dove-gray seas under the morning star, Where, on the wide world's uttermost extremes, Her amber-walled, auroral palace gleams, High in an orient chamber bade prepare An everlasting couch, and laid him there, And leaving, closed the shining doors. But he, Deathless by Jove's compassionless decree, Found not, as others find, a dreamless rest. There wakeful, with half-waking dreams oppressed, Still in an aural, visionary haze Float round him vanished forms of happier days; Still at his side he fancies to behold ​The rosy, radiant thing beloved of old; And oft, as over dewy meads at morn, Far inland from a sunrise coast is borne The drowsy, muffled moaning of the sea, Even so his voice flows on unceasingly,— Lisping sweet names of passion overblown, Breaking with dull, persistent undertone The breathless silence that forever broods Round those colossal, lustrous solitudes. Times change. Man's fortune prospers, or it falls. Change harbors not in those eternal halls And tranquil chamber where Tithonus lies. But through his window there the eastern skies Fall palely fair to the dim ocean's end. There, in blue mist where air and ocean blend, The lazy clouds that sail the wide world o'er Falter and turn where they can sail no more. There singing groves, there spacious gardens blow— Cedars and silver poplars, row on row, Through whose black boughs on her appointed night, Flooding his chamber with enchanted light, Lifts the full moon's immeasurable sphere, Crimson and huge and wonderfully near.
# Poems (Seeger)/Last Poems/Bellinglise

BELLINGLISE
I
Deep in the sloping forest that surrounds The head of a green valley that I know, Spread the fair gardens and ancestral grounds Of Bellinglise, the beautiful château. Through shady groves and fields of unmown grass, It was my joy to come at dusk and see, Filling a little pond's untroubled glass, Its antique towers and mouldering masonry. Oh, should I fall to-morrow, lay me here, That o'er my tomb, with each reviving year, Wood-flowers may blossom and the wood-doves croon; And lovers by that unrecorded place, Passing, may pause, and cling a little space, Close-bosomed, at the rising of the moon.
II
Here, where in happier times the huntsman's horn Echoing from far made sweet midsummer eves, Now serried cannon thunder night and morn, Tearing with iron the greenwood's tender leaves. Yet has sweet Spring no particle withdrawn Of her old bounty; still the song-birds hail, Even through our fusillade, delightful Dawn; Even in our wire bloom lilies of the vale. You who love flowers, take these; their fragile bells Have trembled with the shock of volleyed shells, And in black nights when stealthy foes advance They have been lit by the pale rockets' glow That o'er scarred fields and ancient towns laid low Trace in white fire the brave frontiers of France. May 22, 1916.
# Poems (Seeger)/Last Poems/Champagne (1914–15)

CHAMPAGNE, 1914–15
In the glad revels, in the happy fêtes, When cheeks are flushed, and glasses gilt and pearled With the sweet wine of France that concentrates The sunshine and the beauty of the world,
Drink sometimes, you whose footsteps yet may tread The undisturbed, delightful paths of Earth, To those whose blood, in pious duty shed, Hallows the soil where that same wine had birth.
Here, by devoted comrades laid away, Along our lines they slumber where they fell, Beside the crater at the Ferme d'Alger And up the bloody slopes of La Pompelle,
And round the city whose cathedral towers The enemies of Beauty dared profane, And in the mat of multicolored flowers That clothe the sunny chalk-fields of Champagne.
Under the little crosses where they rise The soldier rests. Now round him undismayed The cannon thunders, and at night he lies At peace beneath the eternal fusillade...
​That other generations might possess— From shame and menace free in years to come— A richer heritage of happiness, He marched to that heroic martyrdom.
Esteeming less the forfeit that he paid Than undishonored that his flag might float Over the towers of liberty, he made His breast the bulwark and his blood the moat.
Obscurely sacrificed, his nameless tomb, Bare of the sculptor's art, the poet's lines, Summer shall flush with poppy-fields in bloom, And Autumn yellow with maturing vines.
There the grape-pickers at their harvesting Shall lightly tread and load their wicker trays, Blessing his memory as they toil and sing In the slant sunshine of October days....
I love to think that if my blood should be So privileged to sink where his has sunk, I shall not pass from Earth entirely, But when the banquet rings, when healths are drunk,
​And faces that the joys of living fill Glow radiant with laughter and good cheer
In beaming cups some spark of me shall still Brim toward the lips that once I held so dear.
So shall one coveting no higher plane Than nature clothes in color and flesh and tone, Even from the grave put upward to attain The dreams youth cherished and missed and might have known;
And that strong need that strove unsatisfied Toward earthly beauty in all forms it wore, Not death itself shall utterly divide From the belovèd shapes it thirsted for.
Alas, how many an adept for whose arms Life held delicious offerings perished here, How many in the prime of all that charms, Crowned with all gifts that conquer and endear!
Honor them not so much with tears and flowers, But you with whom the sweet fulfilment lies, Where in the anguish of atrocious hours Turned their last thoughts and closed their dying eyes,
​Rather when music on bright gatherings lays Its tender spell, and joy is uppermost, Be mindful of the men they were, and raise Your glasses to them in one silent toast.
Drink to them—amorous of dear Earth as well, They asked no tribute lovelier than this— And in the wine that ripened where they fell, Oh, frame your lips as though it were a kiss.
Champagne, France, July, 1915.
# Poems (Seeger)/Last Poems/Introduction and Conclusion of a Long Poem

INTRODUCTION AND CONCLUSION OF A LONG POEM
I have gone sometimes by the gates of Death And stood beside the cavern through whose doors Enter the voyagers into the unseen. From that dread threshold only, gazing back, Have eyes in swift illumination seen Life utterly revealed, and guessed therein What things were vital and what things were vain. Know then, like a vast ocean from my feet Spreading away into the morning sky, I saw unrolled my vanished days, and, lo, Oblivion like a morning mist obscured Toils, trials, ambitions, agitations, ease, And like green isles, sun-kissed, with sweet perfume Loading the airs blown back from that dim gulf, Gleamed only through the all-involving haze The hours when we have loved and been beloved.
Therefore, sweet friends, as often as by Love You rise absorbed into the harmony Of planets singing round magnetic suns, Let not propriety nor prejudice Nor the precepts of jealous age deny What Sense so incontestably affirms; ​Cling to the blessed moment and drink deep Of the sweet cup it tends, as there alone Were that which makes life worth the pain to live. What is so fair as lovers in their joy That dies in sleep, their sleep that wakes in joy? Caressing arms are their light pillows. They That like lost stars have wandered hitherto Lonesome and lightless through the universe, Now glow transfired at Nature's flaming core; They are the centre; constellated heaven Is the embroidered panoply spread round Their bridal, and the music of the spheres Rocks them in hushed epithalamium. ........ I know that there are those whose idle tongues Blaspheme the beauty of the world that was So wondrous and so worshipful to me. I call them those that, in the palace where Down perfumed halls the Sleeping Beauty lay, Wandered without the secret or the key. I know that there are those, of gentler heart, Broken by grief or by deception bowed, Who in some realm beyond the grave conceive The bliss they found not here; but, as for me, ​In the soft fibres of the tender flesh I saw potentialities of Joy Ten thousand lifetimes could not use. Dear Earth, In this dark month when deep as morning dew On thy maternal breast shall fall the blood Of those that were thy loveliest and thy best, If it be fate that mine shall mix with theirs, Hear this my natural prayer, for, purified By that Lethean agony and clad In more resplendent powers, I ask nought else Than reincarnate to retrace my path, Be born again of woman, walk once more Through Childhood's fragrant, flowery wonderland And, entered in the golden realm of Youth, Fare still a pilgrim toward the copious joys I savored here yet scarce began to sip; Yea, with the comrades that I loved so well Resume the banquet we had scarce begun When in the street we heard the clarion-call And each man sprang to arms—ay, even myself Who loved sweet Youth too truly not to share Its pain no less than its delight. If prayers Are to be prayed, lo, here is mine! Be this My resurrection, this my recompense!
# Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/The Witch in the Glass

THE WITCH IN THE GLASS, ETC.
# Paul Clifford/Volume 3/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.
Tempest.
| Peter Mac Grawler | Peter Mac Grawler | Peter Mac Grawler | Peter Mac Grawler | Peter Mac Grawler | Peter Mac Grawler | ! | ! | ! | ! |
# Paul Prescott's Charge

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
Paul Prescott's Charge: A Story for Boys
TO The Boys WHOSE MEMORY GOES BACK WITH ME TO THE BOARDING SCHOOL AT POTOWOME THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR.

### Preface

"PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE" is presented to the public as the second volume of the Campaign Series. Though wholly unlike the first volume, it is written in furtherance of the same main idea, that every boy's life is a campaign, more or less difficult, in which success depends upon integrity and a steadfast adherence to duty.
How Paul Prescott gained strength by battling with adverse circumstances, and, under all discouragements, kept steadily before him the charge which he received from his dying father, is fully told; and the author will be glad if the record shall prove an incentive and an encouragement to those boys who may have a similar campaign before them.
PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE.

### Contents

* Chapter I: Squire Newcome
* Chapter II: Paul Prescott's Home
* Chapter III: Paul's Brilliant Prospects
* Chapter IV: Life in a New Phase
* Chapter V: A Crisis
* Chapter VI: Paul's Determination
* Chapter VII: Paul Begins His Journey
* Chapter VIII: A Friend in Need
* Chapter IX: A Cloud in the Mudge Horizon
* Chapter X: Mr. Mudge Meets His Match
* Chapter XI: Wayside Gossip
* Chapter XII: On the Brink of Discovery
* Chapter XIII: Paul Reaches the City
* Chapter XIV: A Strange Bed-Chamber
* Chapter XV: A Turn of Fortune
* Chapter XVI: Young Stupid
* Chapter XVII: Ben's Practical Joke
* Chapter XVIII: More About Ben
* Chapter XIX: Mrs. Mudge's Discomfiture
* Chapter XX: Paul Obtains a Situation
* Chapter XXI: Smith and Thompson's Young Man
* Chapter XXII: Mr. Benton's Adventure
* Chapter XXIII: Paul Loses His Situation and Gains a Friend
* Chapter XXIV: Paul Calls on Mrs. Danforth
* Chapter XXV: Am Old Acquaintance
* Chapter XXVI: A Vulgar Relation
* Chapter XXVII: Mr. Mudge's Fright
* Chapter XXVIII: How Ben Got Home
* Chapter XXIX: Dawkins in Difficulties
* Chapter XXX: A Trap Is Laid for Paul
* Chapter XXXI: Convicted of Theft
* Chapter XXXII: Right Triumphant
* Chapter XXXIII: Paul Redeems His Pledge
* Chapter XXXIV: How Paul Goes Back to Wrenville
* Chapter XXXV: Conclusion
# Poems of Home and Country/Elizabeth, the Infant Angel

III. TENDER PARTINGS.
ELIZABETH, THE INFANT ANGEL.
ASCENDED, dearly loved, in life's young bud; Too fair, too sweet, 'mid earth's rude blasts to stay, Safe in the bosom of thy Father, God, Bright, beauteous infant, from thy cumbering clay So soon escaped, its happy heavenward way Thy soul hath taken. Like the light of morn, Thou didst shed on us one fair passing ray, Then to thy glorious Source, thou, babe, wast borne.
Dear infant angel, safe in joy and God! Babe of fair promise, child of fondest prayer! Hail, rescued spirit! painful is the rod; But never will we mourn that thou art there. Bright gem, we would not tear thee from thy crown, Nor bid thy harp, sweet seraph, silent lie; Stay in thy mansion, infant, still our own, Never to grieve again, or fear, or die.
Short was thy pilgrim path, a sunny hour; Life was to thee too sweet a boon to last. What joy it gave thee, gentle morning flower! How soon the glorious pageant o'er thee passed! Passed! Yes, from earth,—but fairer life is thine; The vale of death thy little foot hath trod; And now in life immortal thou dost shine, Dear infant, in the paradise of God.
March 24, 1842
# Poems of Home and Country/America

Part II.
POEMS OF COUNTRY.
Part II.—COUNTRY.
AMERICA.
Written February, A.D. 1832, and first sung at a Fourth of July Celebration at Boston, the same year.
MY country, 't is of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrims' pride, From every mountain side Let freedom ring.
My native country, thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills Like that above.
Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet Freedom's song; Let mortal tongues awake, Let all that breathe partake, Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong.
​Our fathers' God, to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee we sing; Long may our land be bright With Freedom's holy light; Protect us by Thy might, Great God, our King.
# Poems of Home and Country/God all in all

GOD ALL IN ALL.
GOD of all grace, supreme, alone; Thy robe, the light; the heavens, Thy throne; The winds, Thy voice; Thy path, the sea,— Reverent, we bow, and worship Thee.
In all Thy works, Thy hand we trace; Creation does but veil Thy face. Thy life, our life; Thy warmth, our spring; Our only rest, Thy sheltering wing.
Thy breath makes every pulse-beat thrill; We feel the whispers of Thy will; We come, we go, at Thy command; We wait the moving of Thy hand.
Plant in our hearts Thy love and fear; Teach us Thy precepts to revere; And fashion us, through grace, to be But living temples meet for Thee.
# Poems of Home and Country/Childhood Memories

Part I.—HOME.
FAMILY PICTURES.
I. DOMESTIC BEGINNINGS.
CHILDHOOD MEMORIES.
OH, no, they shall not be forgot, Those days of simple truth,— The harmless sports and noisy joys Of boyhood and of youth;
Chorus.
But when upon those early scenes We suffer thought to dwell, We'll drink to their dear memory from The pure, the pure deep well.
We wander o'er each scene anew, We tread each hallowed spot Where time in giddy gladness flew,— Oh, can they be forgot!
Chorus.
Roll back, roll back the tide of cares, Roll back the swelling sea; An hour we'll give to think upon Our days of youthful glee;
Chorus.
​But ah! those cheerful scenes are gone, Their joys fled fast away; The friends of our bright boyhood's morn,— Oh, tell me, where are they!
Chorus.
Bereaved, but bowing to our lot, Our onward path we tread, As mournfully we gather up The mantles of the dead.
Chorus.
The places where our youth was spent; The friends who now are not; The scenes we loved, those joyous hours,— They shall not be forgot.
Chorus.
# Poems of Home and Country/Cradle Song

CRADLE SONG.
FROM THE GERMAN,
SLEEP, baby, sleep! Our cottage vale is deep; The little lamb is on the green, His snowy fleece is soft and clean, Sleep, baby, sleep!
Sleep, baby, sleep! I would not, would not weep; The little lamb—he never cries— How bright and happy are his eyes, Sleep, baby, sleep!
​Sleep, baby, sleep! Thy rest shall angels keep; The lamb before the doors shall feed, And suffer neither want nor need. Sleep, baby, sleep!
Sleep, baby, sleep! Near where the woodbines creep; Be like the lamb so meek and mild, A sweet and kind and gentle child. Sleep, baby, sleep!
# Poems of Home and Country/A Song of Spring

A SONG OF SPRING.
WELCOME, the opening buds of spring; Welcome, the dew and rain; Welcome, the merry birds that sing; Welcome, the bursting grain.
Welcome, the balmy airs that breathe, The rainbows, and the showers; Welcome, the early flowers that wreathe Their beauty round our bowers.
​Wild from a thousaud warbling throats Melodious music rings; Matin and vesper swells and floats,— Nature's sweet offerings.
Each bird that soars, each bud that breaks In beauty from its cell, Tuneful, or still, one accent wakes,— "God has done all things well."
Let tree and wood, let vale and hill, Swell the sweet, grateful song, And wave, and rock, and rippling rill, The echoing strain prolong.
# Poems of Home and Country/Divine Providence

DIVINE PROVIDENCE.
DEDICATION HYMN.
OH, praise ye Jehovah; His glory proclaim! Bring joyful hosannas to honor His name; With glad acclamations His altar draw near; Bow low to His footstool; Jehovah is here.
​He speaks in creation; He rules o'er the flood, Through Nature's wide realm the Onmipotent God; But chooses the temples we build to His praise, As shrines for His name, and abodes of His grace.
Then come where we wait Thy blessing to prove, Thou, strong to redeem, and Thou, matchless in love; Like light breaking forth from the gates of the morn, May rays from Thy glory this temple adorn!
# Poems of Home and Country/Edward Everett

EDWARD EVERETT.
MUTE is his eloquence: that silver tongue On whose sweet accents crowds, admiring, hung,— Whose fitting words in heavenly beauty fell On ear and heart, that owned the witching spell; Whose graceful cadence tides of feeling woke, As if on earth some loving angel spoke,— Now rests in silence, like a harp unstrung. Its notes, unrivalled, on the breezes flung, Still breathe in living echoes in the air, As though the master-spirit lingered there. Who can do justice to so great a name? Who speak in worthy words his matchless fame? In varied learning brilliant and profound; In taste a model, and in judgment sound; Above ambition's mean and shuffling arts; Too great to purchase power at public marts; In life so pure, in motive so unstained,— He trod with honor all the heights he gained; His aims so worthy, and his powers so rare, If first he stood, the people placed him there. As stands a shaft on some far-reaching plain, Rising o'er cottage-roofs and waving grain, ​Catching the earliest morning's crimson streams, And latest splendor of the evening beams, Towering o'er all, it meets the distant sight, And bathes its summit in the peerless light,— So, in his country, in his age, alone, As in the earlier times great Washington; When foemen trod the stage with haughty stride, He for his country spoke with manly pride, Consoled the timid, made the fainting strong, Stood for the right, and frowned upon the wrong. As some brave soldier waves his flag on high, And points his comrades on, to do or die, Then plants the banner on the topmost height, Borne through the fiercest whirlwind of the fight, Himself forgetting, eager but to see His nation's struggle crowned by victory,— So toiled in love, so stood, till evening set, The ripe, the brave, immortal Everett. Well at his funeral-pomp did wreaths of green Adorn the places where his life had been, And garlands deck, with sweet and cheerful bloom, The opening gateway to his honored tomb. The full-blown flowers, of pure and spotless white, Symbols of finished life, a life upright; The bursting buds, of fresh and bright renown, Wreathed o'er his name, like an immortal crown,— Each fragrant blossom round the good and brave, Telling how virtue lives beyond the grave. The martial dirge, with deep and solemn strain, Fell on the ear as falls the gentle rain, Breathing o'er troubled hearts a healing balm; While mingling organ-notes prolonged the psalm, As if the twofold music had been given, Symbol of closing earth and opening heaven. Thus when the good man parts from earth and time, Soaring from toil and pain to joys sublime, ​The flickering light of such a world as this Melts in the splendor of ecstatic bliss; The mortal, like the setting sunlight, fades, While glorious visions rise that know no shades; And earthly music, as the soul ascends, Dies on the ear, and with the angelic concert blends.
# Poems of Home and Country/Flowers in Winter

FLOWERS IN WINTER.
FAIR flowers that bloom so richly, As if the summer's breath Were wafted o'er their birthplace, And not the chill of death! I hail the joyful emblem,— Fit cheer for hours of gloom,— Earth has its wintry trials, But 'tis not all a tomb.
I listen in the evening To the sighing of the gale; I watch the heaping snowdrifts, And hear the rattling hail; And I think, with grateful spirit, What a glorious God is ours, Who is mighty in the tempest, And gentle in the flowers.
The piercing blasts are blowing; But every smiling cup Breathes forth such charming fragrance, And looks so sweetly up, I forget the shortened daylight, And the wintry chill and gloom, And heaven seems hovering near me, With its everlasting bloom.
And I see amid the darkness Of the path that mortals tread, In the land of grief and partings, Of the mourning and the dead, ​How God, with loving mercy, Softening the painful blow, Leaves joy, to gild our sorrow, Like flowers in time of snow.
The cherished forms that faltered, And we laid them down to rest, In their still retreats are sleeping, With the peace of Jesus blest; Like the blossom from the tuber, Like the harvest from the grain, They will spring,—the time approaches,— To their lovely life again.
They are living still in beauty, Where the soft airs ever last, Where they never feel the fury Of the winter's bitter blast; Nor frosts, with chilling fingers, Nor griefs, with scalding tear, Where summer ever lingers, And flowers bloom all the year.
# Pompton v. Cooper Union

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
101 U.S. 196
Pompton v. Cooper Union
ERROR to the Circuit Court of the United States for the District of New Jersey.
The facts are stated in the opinion of the court.
Mr. Frederick T. Frelinghuysen and Mr. Thomas N. McCarter for the plaintiffs in error.
Mr. Barker Gummere, contra.
MR. JUSTICE SWAYNE delivered the opinion of the court.

## 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