OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Persian Letters/Letter 45
#### Letter 45

Rica to Usbeck, at * * *
YESTERDAY morning, as I lay in bed, I heard a violent knocking at my door, which was suddenly opened, or driven in, by a man with whom I have some slight acquaintance, and who appeared to me to be quite beside himself.
His dress was, to say the least, very homely; his wig, all askew, had not even been combed; he had not had time to mend his black waistcoat; and he had, for that day, omitted the wise precautions with which he was in the habit of concealing the dilapidation of his attire.
“Rise,” he said; “I shall want you all day. I have a thousand purchases to make, and it will be a great convenience to me to have you with me. First of all, we have to go to the Rue Saint Honoré to see a notary, who is commissioned to sell an estate worth five hundred thousand livres. On my way here, I stopped a moment in the Faubourg Saint Germain, where I hired a house at two thousand crowns; I hope to sign the contract today.”
As soon as, or rather before, I was dressed, my gentleman hurried me downstairs. “Let us start,” said he, “by buying and setting up a coach.” As a matter of fact, we bought, not only a coach, but—and that in less than an hour—a hundred thousand francs’ worth of goods: all this was done with promptitude, because my gentleman haggled about nothing, kept no account, and paid no money. I reflected upon it all; and, when I examined this man, I found in him such an extraordinary mixture of indications of both wealth and poverty, that I knew not what to think. But at last I broke silence, and taking him aside, I said, “Sir, who is to pay for all this?” “Myself,” said he. “Come to my room, and I will show you immense treasures, and riches envied by the greatest kings—but not by you, because you will always share with me.” I followed him. We climbed up to his fifth storey, and by means of a ladder hoisted ourselves to a sixth, which was a closet open to all the winds, and contained nothing but two or three dozen earthenware basins filled with different liquors. “I rose very early,” he said, “and, as I have done every morning for the last twenty-five years, I paid a visit to my work. I saw that the great day had come, the day which would make me the richest man in the whole world. Do you see this ruddy liquor? It possesses at present all the qualities required by philosophers for the transmutation of metals. I have collected those grains which you see, and which are, as their colour shows, pure gold, although they are a little deficient in weight. This secret, which Nicholas Flamel discovered, but which Raymond Lully and a million others have sought in vain, has been revealed at last to me; and to-day I find myself a happy adept. May God grant that with the treasures which He has committed to me I may do nothing but for His glory!”
Transported with anger, I left the room, and descended, or rather threw myself down the stairs, and left this man of boundless wealth in his garret. Farewell, my dear Usbek, I will visit you to-morrow, and, if you wish, we can return to Paris together.
Paris, the last day of the moon of Rhegeb, 1713.
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Sporting Acquaintances

SPORTING ACQUAINTANCES
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/To Leonide Massine

TO LEONIDE MASSINE
IN 'CLEOPATRA'
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/To a Childless Woman

TO A CHILDLESS WOMAN
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/Vision

VISION
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/The Imperfect Lover

THE IMPERFECT LOVER
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/What the Captain said at the Point-to-Point

WHAT THE CAPTAIN SAID AT THE POINT-TO-POINT
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/The Dug-out

THE DUG-OUT
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/The Dark House

THE DARK HOUSE
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/The Goldsmith

THE GOLDSMITH
# Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/To a Very Wise Man

The "very wise man" is W. H. R. Rivers
TO A VERY WISE MAN
# Poems (Angier)/My Muse

POEMS
POEMS.
# Poems (McDonald)/Keepsakes

KEEPSAKES.
"I have been looking over a box of keepsakes. Each little trinket had a voice which spoke to me of the Past."
                         Private Letter.
# Poems (Barrett)/A Drama of Exile

A DRAMA OF EXILE.
PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.
| Adam. Eve. Gabriel. Lucifer. | Angels. Eden Spirits. Earth Spirits and Phantasms. |
Christ in a Vision.
A Drama of Exile.
SONG OF THE MORNING STAR TO LUCIFER.
He fades utterly away and vanishes, as it proceeds.
* ↑ Adam recognises in Aquarius, the water-bearer,and Sagittarius, the archer, distinct types of the man bearing and the man combatting,—the passive and active forms of human labour. I hope that the preceding zodiacal signs—transferred to the earthly shadow and representative purpose—of Aries, Taurus, Cancer, Leo, Libra, Scorpio, Capricornus, and Pisces, are sufficiently obvious to the reader.
* ↑ Her maternal instinct is excited by Gemini.
# Poems (Barrett)/A Vision of Poets

A VISION OF POETS.
# Poems (Betham)/Distance from the Place of our Nativity

Song.
# Poems (Betham)

POEMS
BY
MATILDA BETHAM.
London:
PRINTED FOR J. HATCHARD,
BOOKSELLER TO HER MAJESTY, OPPOSITE ALBANY,
PICCADILLY.
1808.
Brettell and Co. Printers, Marshall-street, Golden-square.
TO
LADY ROUSE BOUGHTON,
AS A
TESTIMONY OF RESPECT AND GRATITUDE FOR
LONG CONTINUED FRIENDSHIP,
THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY
HER OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT,
MATILDA BETHAM.
New Cavendish-street, Feb. 3, 1808.
ADVERTISEMENT.
Before this book was printed, I thoughtlessly concluded there must be a preface; but, on consideration, see no particular purpose it would answer, and gladly decline a task I should have undertaken with much timidity and reluctance. All I feel necessary to premise, is, that the tale in the Old Shepherd's Recollections is founded on an event which happened in Ireland; and that last spring I suppressed the song ending in page 65, some time after it had been in the hands of the composer, from meeting accidentally with a quotation in a magazine that resembled it.
ERRATA.
Page 19, 2d verse, last line, for seem read seems.
——— 43, 2d verse, last line, for Ah, perhaps read A perhaps.
——— 87, ninth line, for drunk read drank.
CONTENTS.
Brettell and Co. Printers, Marshall-street, Golden-square.
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
# Poems (Betham)/Edgar and Ellen

FINIS.
# Poems (Betham)/A Sailor's Song

Aug. 21, 1804
# Poems (Eddy)/Our National Thanksgiving Hymn

Lynn, Mass., December 7, 1865.
# Poems (Eddy)/Resolutions for the Day

Written in girlhood.
# Poems (Eddy)/Signs of the Heart

Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., 1899.
# Poems (Eddy)/Old Man of the Mountain

POEMS
POEMS
# Poems (Eddy)/O for Thy Wings, Sweet Bird!

Written more than sixty years ago for the New Hampshire Patriot.
# Poems (Eddy)/Satisfied

Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., January, 1900.
# Poems for the Sea/The Happy Mariner

THE HAPPY MARINER.
I am a happy mariner,
 My home is on the sea,
And Mother Cary's chickens,
 They are the birds for me.
With swelling breeze, and favoring tide
 How glorious is our lot,
And storms that strike a landsman pale,
 Scarce stir our blood a jot,
Even, if our sails like ribbons fly,
 And the dead-lights long are in,
Hard up the helm! and keep good heart!
 Till skies are bright again.
The Ocean is my garden,
 Our vessel ploughs the brine,
And the pleasant fruits that there I reap,  Are my friends' as well as mine,
My friends, who lead such stupid lives
 On land, among the flowers,
I'm sure my wages they must need
 To cheer their gloomy hours.
My books, they are the fleecy waves,
 And when the moonbeams shine,
Methinks, a pencil on their page
 Doth write the Name Divine.
Yes, I'm a happy mariner,
 If any do me wrong
I'll wish for them a better mind,
 And sing my merriest song.
Here, in our small forecastle
 Where there's scarcely room to spare
To stow away the chest and cot,
 There's none for spite or care.
And so, all tight from stem to stern
 I'd show an honest face,
And have my chart without a blot
 Of hatred to my race.
And when my task seems hardest
 And storms arouse in might
I'll throw my self-love overboard
 To make the cargo light.
So, come, my hearties, one and all,
 Good comrades, true and dear,
Let's do what's right, both day and night,
 And keep the log-book clear.
And ever ask for heavenly grace
 At the last billows' shock,
To strike an anchor where 'twill hold
 In the Everlasting Rock.
# Poems for the Sea/The Hero

THE HERO.
[The following incident took place during the great conflagration in the city of New York, on the cold night of December 16th, 1836.]
Ah! fearful was the sight!
 The fire devouring spread
From roof to roof, from street to street,
 And on their treasures fed;
Hark! to that Mother's cry
 Amid the tumult wild,
As rushing toward her flame-wrapped home,
 She shrieks, "My child! my child!"
A wanderer from the wave
 A sailor marked her woe,
And in his feeling bosom woke
 The sympathetic glow,
Quick up the cleaving stairs,
 With daring step he flew,
Though sable clouds of stifling smoke
 Concealed him from the view;
Loud was the admiring voice,
 Yet mix'd with shuddering fear,
For him, who nobly risk'd his life,
 Mov'd by a stranger's tear;
The blazing timbers fell
 Across his dangerous road,
And the far chamber where he groped,
 Like reeking oven glow'd.
How high the exulting shout!
 When from that mass of flame,
Unhurt, unshrinking, undismayed,
 The brave deliverer came,
While in his victor arms
 A smiling infant lay,
Pleased with the flash that round his bed
 Had wound its glittering ray.
The mother's speechless tears
 Forth like a torrent sped,
Yet ere the throng could learn his name
 That generous hero fled;
Not for the praise of man
 He wrought this deed of love,
But, on a bright unfading page,
 'Tis registered above.
# Poems for the Sea/The Sister's Farewell

THE SISTER'S FAREWELL.
Brother, good bye,—your choice is made,
 On the great Sea to dwell,
Where mighty ships majestic ride,
 And foaming billows swell,
Good bye, beneath the spreading shade
 Of our old favorite tree
In places where our childhood play'd
 You will remember'd be.
The hearth-stone of our pleasant home
 Must lone, and alter'd seem,
And I shall listen to your voice
 Even in my sweetest dream.
Yes, I shall miss the merry smile
 That oft-times cheer'd my heart,
While far away, mid storms and surge
 You bear a venturous part.
Brother, good bye! yet ne'er forget
 Whatever else betide,
That your good conduct is our wealth,
 Your stainless name, our pride.
Be firm and honest, kind and true,
 In sunshine, or in blast,
And make your duty, your delight,
 Where'er your lot is cast.
Oh Brother dear! Heaven be your guide
 Upon the boistrous main,
And bring you to your sister's side,
 In happiness again.
# Poems for the Sea/The Trusting Child

THE TRUSTING CHILD.
The good ship o'er the Ocean,
 Glides on, where skies are bright,
And rolling waves right merrily
 Propel her homeward flight;
But lo! the blast and tempest
 Rush from their prisoning cell,
The rocky coast, frowns dark and dread,
 The wintry surges swell.
'Tis night! Amid the breakers
 The headlong vessel goes,
And shrieking, like a wounded man,
 Strives with her vengeful foes;
Pale grows the boldest mariner,
 For scarce the trumpet's cry
Is heard amid contending blasts,
 Whose warfare shakes the sky.
How fearful is the tumult!
 Hark, to the wailing prayer
That mingles with the deafening storm
 Like hope amid despair;
Yet in the darken'd cabin
 Rocked by the raging sea,
There calmly sat a beauteous boy,
 Upon his mother's knee.
He sang a hymn of heaven,
 Then spoke so sweetly mild,
"The Bible saith our Savior dear
 Doth love the little child;
It telleth of a happy home
 Beyond the stormy sky;
Mother! He'll take us there to dwell,
 We're not afraid to die."
His brow was pure and peaceful
 As the pearl beneath the deep,
When the booming battle thunders,
 Across its bosom sweep;
Hoarse came the words of horror
 From men of sinful life,
But innocence, with soul serene,
 Beheld the appalling strife.
Lo! the black clouds are breaking,
 The winds remit their force,
The shatterd bark retrims her sails
 And slowly holds her course;
The wearied men are faint, as they
 Who with giant foes have striven,
But the trusting child, as he gently smiled
 Seem'd like a guest from Heaven.
# Poems for the Sea/The Two Teachers

THE TWO TEACHERS.
Earth hath her firesides, where the truant heart
Comes back, to be forgiven, where the soft touch
Of mother, or of sister, lures the boy,
And tames his fierceness, where the unshap'd sound
From infancy's fair lip, doth move the soul
With thrill unspeakable.
 But the strong Sea
Beareth no hearth-stone on his giant waves.
He scorns the cadence of the nursery song,
Nor with his erring children leaves a fault
For Love's fond kiss to shrive. The hoarse reproof,
The chronicle of wrecks; the lash of storms,
Are his appliances. No echoing voice Of Sabbath-bell, across the billowy waste Calleth the peasant, with his little ones Up to God's courts; no chant of tuneful choir Softeneth his pupils, and no fervent prayer For their misdeeds, from interceding Love
Outlasts the night-watch.  Oft indulgent Earth Fits her frail child for Death's most fear'd embrace, By holiest ministries around his bed, Until her loosening links unclasp and fall, In scarce perceptible, and calm decline, Without a murmuring moan. And then she opes Her matron breast, for his long, dreamless sleep, And covers him with flowers.  It is not so With Ocean, in his sterner discipline. His tender mercies, are the sad, lone plunge Down to his caves, where scaly monsters gaze A moment on the guest, with stony eyes, Then leave him to an unwept sepulchre, Until the day of doom.
Oh, gentle Earth!
Gird thy son well, ere thou dost cast him forth To Ocean's iron rule. Give him the shield Of God's true fear, —that tho' he turn away From charities of home, and hallow'd bell Warning to Church, and turf-bound, tear-wet tomb, It may be well with him.
# Poems for the Sea/The Prophet's Vision

THE PROPHET'S VISION.
EZEKIEL XLVII.
He look'd, and from the Temple gate
 Where the bright orient glow'd,
Fast by the altar's hallow'd base
 A stream like chrystal flow'd.
Bathing the feet, that limpid spring
 With gentlest murmur crept,
Then deepening to a bolder flood
 In fearless current swept.
Till, spreading out, a river broad
 In strong, translucent tide,
Those mighty waters, rushing, roll'd,
 And foil'd the swimmer's pride.
Oh! vision of the glorious fount
 Which the meek Hand that fell
Transpierc'd, on Calvary's fatal cross,
 Brought forth a living well,
True symbol of the Gospel's course,
 Didst thou that Prophet cheer,
Who erst on Chebar's lonely banks
 Shed the pale captive's tear?
On that blest river's banks we dwell,
 We drink its healing tide,
So, like the trees Ezekiel saw
 His vision'd flood beside,
May we with fresh, unfading leaf  Each changeful season dare,
And still the fruits of faith renew
 Till Heaven's pure clime we share.
# Poems for the Sea/The Mother's blessing on her Sailor Son

THE MOTHER'S BLESSING, ON HER SAILOR SON.
Son of my love, farewell! farewell!
 On the wide watery plain
I yield thee to a life of toil,
 And Him, who rules the main.
And by those pure and speechless joys
When cradled on my breast,
I met thy waking infant smile,
Or lull'd thy woes to rest,
By that deep thrill, when first thy lip
 Its lisping utterance tried,
Or when the evening prayer it breathed
 Thy little bed beside,
By the strong hope that never dies
 Within a mother's heart,
I bless thee, wanderer of the deep,
 While tears of anguish start.
What though no gems, or hoarded gold
 To swell thy stores, I bring,
A Parent's blessing maketh strong,
 Like guardian angel's wing.
Yes—thou shalt feel when o'er the wave
 Thy bark by storms is driven,
A Parent's blessing maketh glad
 Next to the hope of Heaven.
Seek thou that hope to gird thy soul
 Amid the tossing brine,
Thy Mother's prayer shall meet thee there,
 And intercede with thine.
Oh! seek a Saviour's pardoning grace,
 That so, on land or sea,
In weal or woe, in life or death,
 It may be well with thee.
# Poems for the Sea/The Sailor's Sick Child

THE SAILOR'S SICK CHILD.
Come, Mother, sit beside my bed,
 And of my father tell,
On the deep ocean far away,
 Where angry waters swell.
I wish that he were with me now,
 While sick and faint I lie,
'T were good to hear his loving voice,
 And bless him ere I die.
Mother, it troubles me to see
 Those stranger-ladies come,
And urge you so to leave my side,
 And work for them, at home;
Methinks they coldly gaze on me,
 And shake their heads and say,
How feeble and how pale I grow,
 And waste, and waste away.
And oh, it grieves my heart to think,
 From morn to evening shade,
That you so oft for them must toil,
 And have from me no aid;
And then, with tender words, you say,
 You wish it were not so,
But I should have no food or fire,
 Unless you sometimes go.
When slow the sunset fades away,
 And twilight mists appear,
The sound of your returning step
 Is music to my ear;
How happy are those children dear,  Who, on their couch of pain, Behold a mother always near,  But still, I'll not complain.
There's nought on earth I love so much  As your kind face to see, And now, indeed, the time is short  We can together be; Still draw me closer to your side,  And to your bosom fold, For then my cough I do not heed,  Nor feel the winter's cold.
Yet when the storm is loud and wild,  I cover up my head, And pray Almighty God to save  My father from the dead; So, in his lonely midnight watch  Upon the tossing sea, Perhaps beneath the solemn stars  He will remember me.
I know I cannot see him more,
 I feel it must be so,
But he can find my little grave,
 Where early spring flowers blow;
And you will comfort all his cares,
 When I in heaven shall be;
But mother, dearest! when I die,
 Oh! be alone with me.
# Poems for the Sea/The Whaler's Song

THE WHALER'S SONG.
There she lies! There she lies!
 A mountain on old Ocean's breast.
 "Where away?" Just three points west,
Toward yon waves that boldly rise.
 Head the vessel! Trim the sail!
 We must chase that mighty whale.
There she blows! There she blows!
 Man the boats! for nothing stay!
Such a prize we cannot lose,
 Stretch to your oars! away! away!
Grapple closer, careful steer,
Launch the harpoon, laugh at fear,
Plunge it deep, the barbed spear,
Strike the lance, in swift career,
Give her line! Give her line!
Down she goes through the foaming brine,
Sponge the side, where the flying coil
Mark's the monster's speed and toil;
But though she dive to the deepest ground,
Where the plummet fails to sound,
'Tis all in vain! All in vain!
 She hath that within her side,
Will surely bring her up again.
Spout! Spout! Spout!
The waves are maddening all about,
Every billow on its head
Strangely wears a crest of red;
How she lashes the seething main,
In her flurry and her pain;
Take good heed, my hearts of oak,
 Lest her terrible flukes, as she tortured lies,
 Wildly hurl us to the skies:
But see! the pride of her strength is broke,
 Heavy she lies, as a mass of lead,
 The mighty monarch-whale is dead!
Row! Row! Row!
 In our ship she must go,
Changed by fire to a liquid stream,
Over the broad Pacific's swell,
Round Cape Horn, where the tempests dwell,
Many a night and many a day,
Home with us, she must sail away,
 Till we joyful hail once more,
 Old Nantucket's treeless shore.
There, when the fair with brilliant eyes
 In evening circles sit,
While the shining needle plies
Or the merry laugh replies
 To pleasant wit,
Let them think, if they will,
 Of the hardy tar  On seas afar,
Who risks his life, their lamps to fill.
# Poems for the Sea/The happy Home

THE HAPPY HOME
THOUGHTS of my happy home
 Are pleasant on the Sea,
For there, my best beloved one
 I know, remembers me,
And teaches with a glowing cheek
Our babe, his father's name to speak.
When on their love I muse,
 I cannot feel alone,
It seems as though a diamond shield
 Was o'er my bosom thrown,
The eherish'd forms of wife and child
Are sunbeams, though the storm is wild.
And when I pace the deck,
 My midnight watch to keep,
I ask the never slumbering Eye
 To guard their quiet sleep ;
For them I toil, for them I save,
And gladly dare the mountain wave.
Thoughts of my humble home
 My hardest labours cheer,
And if it were a palace proud
 It would not be as dear,
For now its little window seems
The light-house of my brightest dreams.
# Poems (Sherwin)/Collin Ramsey

"Before we spread a Report we should ascertain its Truth, and reflect well upon the consequences of which it might be productive, lest we should be guilty of the heinous Sin of bearing false witness against our Neighbour."
COLLIN RAMSEY.
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# Poems (Terry, 1861)/The mourning dove

TRANSLATIONS.
TRANSLATIONS.
# Points of friction

POINTS OF FRICTION
BY
AGNES REPPLIER, Litt.D.
AUTHOR OF "BOOKS AND MEN," "ESSAYS IN IDLENESS," "COUNTER CURRENTS," ETC., ETC.
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1920
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY AGNES REPPLIER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Note
Six of the ten essays in this volume—"Living in History," "Dead Authors," "Consolations of the Conservative," "The Cheerful Clan," "Woman Enthroned," and "Money"—are reprinted through the courtesy of The Atlantic Monthly; "The Beloved Sinner" and "The Strayed Prohibitionist" through the courtesy of The Century Magazine; "Cruelty and Humour" through the courtesy of The Yale Review; "The Virtuous Victorian" through the courtesy of The Nation.
Contents
| Living in History | 1 |
| Dead Authors | 31 |
| Consolations of the Conservative | 70 |
| The Cheerful Clan | 105 |
| The Beloved Sinner | 126 |
| The Virtuous Victorian | 149 |
| Woman Enthroned | 167 |
| The Strayed Prohibitionist | 204 |
| Money | 227 |
| Cruelty and Humour | 254 |
# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 1/The Mother's return

VI.
THE MOTHER'S RETURN.
BY THE SAME.
A month, sweet Little-ones, is passed Since your dear Mother went away,— And she to-morrow will return; To-morrow is the happy day.
O blessed tidings! thought of joy! The eldest heard with steady glee; Silent he stood; then laughed amain,— And shouted, "Mother come to me!"
Louder and louder did he shout With witless hope to bring her near; "Nay, patience! patience, little Boy! Your tender Mother cannot hear."
I told of hills, and far-off towns, And long, long vales to travel through;— He listens, puzzled, sore perplexed, But he submits; what can he do?
​No strife disturbs his Sister's breast; She wars not with the mystery Of time and distance, night and day, The bonds of our humanity.
Her joy is like an instinct, joy Of kitten, bird, or summer fly; She dances, runs without an aim, She chatters in her ecstasy.
Her Brother now takes up the note, And echoes back his Sister's glee; They hug the Infant in my arms, As if to force his sympathy.
Then, settling into fond discourse, We rested in the garden bower; While sweetly shone the evening sun In his departing hour.
We told o'er all that we had done,— Our rambles by the swift brook's side Far as the willow-skirted pool Where two fair swans together glide.
​We talked of change, of winter gone, Of green leaves on the hawthorn spray, Of birds that build their nests and sing, And "all since Mother went away!"
To her these tales they will repeat, To her our new-born tribes will shew, The goslings green, the ass's colt, The lambs that in the meadow go.
—But, see, the evening Star comes forth! To bed the Children must depart; A moment's heaviness they feel, A sadness at the heart:
'Tis gone—and in a merry fit They run up stairs in gamesome race; I too, infected by their mood, I could have joined the wanton chase.
Five minutes past—and Oh the change! Asleep upon their beds they lie; Their busy limbs in perfect rest, And closed the sparkling eye.