OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2243/With Struggle, Strength

Originally published in Toronto Week.
I set my face to the bitter wind,  And my heart to the freezing sky; The arrow drift of the sleet may blind  And sting as it hurtles by.
Yet with hot blood coursing to either cheek  From the strong red heart within, I laugh aloud and sing as I seek  My onward way to win.
For the cold and wind and the pelt of rain  Are a whip to nerve and limb; And the harden'd frame is aglow again  In spite of their fury grim.
Then hurrah! for the leaden day so dark,  With its steely sleet and hail! The cumber'd path and the tempest's wrath,  In the roaring wall of gale!
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2243/"Would thy warm heart human, too!"

Originally published in Spectator.
Would thy warm heart were human, too,  O spirit of the Spring! So should thy softest breezes woo  The souls most suffering.
So shouldst thou bid some frolic air  No longer play so light, But to foul courts and alleys fare,  Full-charged with Spring's delight;
To whisper what a glory fills  The woodslope to the stream, Where in the dusk the daffodils  Like flakes of sunlight gleam!
Some air that in the sick man's breast  Like a new life should lie; Or fan the fevered brow to rest,  And with the dying die!
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2243/Naturæ Penetralia

Originally published in Spectator.
A sluggish little stream that loiters slow  Between gnarled tree-trunks and thick tangled grass  And giant reeds in a deep wet morass For many a league, screened from the fiery glow Of tropic sunlight; here and there a row  Of small red bitterns, sitting patiently,  Watch for the passing of their finny prey, All silent as the water's voiceless flow; Flash like live opals through the gloom a pair  Of bronze-winged doves; and in the inmost heart  Of this deep wilderness, alone, apart,  With mighty limbs outstretched, and half-shut eyes,  Lord of the pathless forest, dreaming lies The deadly tiger in his darksome lair.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2244/Echoes

Originally published in Spectator.
As one who walks upon a windy night,  Through unknown streets, to reach the minster door, Guides not his footsteps by the gusty light,  But by the clangor that the wild bells pour;  Yet oft he pauses, when in the wind's roar Some louder echo calls him left or right; And much he joys when, full of angels bright,  He sees the great rose-window flame before.
So if the wanderer in life's ways attend  To catch the heavenly carillon, above  Its earthly echoes, nature, art, and love; Then in his ears, as earth's sweet voices end,  The bells sound clearer, and before his eyes  Bright windows open in the darkening skies.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2244/Moon-Thirst

Originally published in Spectator.
Who knows — yon ancient planet waterless, Once swayed with ocean; yonder caves, whence night Not ever is dispelled, were swum with light, And floods and verdurous mountains felt the stress Of winds that smote the shining capes, to bless Woodlands with power and ships with men of might: While cloud-encircled and more softly bright The moon walked on in gleaming spotlessness? Now, cold of heart, and evermore accursed With death, white ashes strewn upon her head, Blind on her course the haggard phantom moves; But fierce and unallayable her thirst, To earth's far seas in vain her hands are spread; She strains to tilt the ocean cup she loves.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2243/A Journey

Originally published in Academy.
I know not whitherward my soul is set —  One strait dark path all life's horizon fills,  Tho' still far-off the unwavering blessed hills Flame gold and purple, where the sun has met
Their jubilant upturned faces, and even yet  Laughs the lush meadow bright with daffodils,  Laugh the green valleys with their hurrying rills, And smile the angels o'er heaven's parapet!
One strait dark path — and these things are so fair!  Might I but climb the mountain's gleaming height,  Dream in the valleys, joy in the sweet light Of pitying angel-eyes — soul, ask not where  Life's dark path leadeth thro' the gathering night, But if at ending God and heaven prove there!
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2244/Plymouth Harbor - Sunday

Originally published in Spectator.
Is it not well that England sends her sons From such proud harbors, such fair haunts as these, To wage their battle with the roaring seas, And shout for victory with their cloudy guns; Here where the shifting wall of white foam runs Forever Soundward, where baronial trees Blend the waves' whisper with the hum of bees And sweet church bells ring down their benisons? Yes, when the sailor's heart is strung for fight, Thou, Edgecumbe, shall be present in that hour, The Hoe and Hamoaze, clear before his sight, Shall nerve his arm and lend his spirit power; And if he fall, yet falling will he smile, Dead for the love of this his native isle.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1823/Valedictory Stanzas

Literary Gazette, 10th May 1823, Page 299-300
ORIGINAL POETRY. VALEDICTORY STANZAS.
Oh not that look to me, my love,
 Oh not that look to me;
Cold looks I may from others bear,
 But never one from thee!
I cannot bear that alter'd brow,
 That wandering smile of thine,
To see it fix on others' eyes,
 On any but on mine.
I meet thee in the glittering crowd—
 We meet as strangers do;
The pang that rives my inmost soul
 Is all unmarked by you.
Last night we met as now we meet,
 A gorgeous throng were nigh,—
I heard you scoff at constant love,
 Then sternly pass me by.
It is enough!—I do resign
 My claim on love and thee;
I will forsake the hope that long
 Has fed on memory.
Then look not so, I will forget
 What once those fond eyes said;
The dead will soon forget—and I
 Shall soon be with the dead!
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Constancy 2

Literary Gazette, 20th November, 1824, Pages 748
ORIGINAL POETRY. CONSTANCY.
-----Can the heart change
When it hath made unto itself a home
And place of worship, sanctified by all
Those gentle ties that are as chains of gold—
Affection of long years, and faith, like wine,
Made bright and pure by keeping?—Is not this
The Paradise of Love?---
Aye, let us look on all around,
 And see how all have changed.
This jasmine, with its amber shower,
 How its green stems have ranged!
This mountain-ash, whose flower-fill'd boughs
 Spread like a cloud at noon—
Whose shade is as a haunted place
 For the sweet airs of June:
'Twas but a little shrub when first
 I wreathed amid thy hair
Its berries, like the coral crown
 That the sea-maidens wear.
One of my earliest gifts of love
 Were apples from yon tree;
And then the red fruit of its boughs
 Might well be offered thee.
Now it stands, a deserted thing,
 All desolate and bare;
The grey moss with'ring round the boughs,
 And not a leaf is there.
A road winds where there once was seen
 A steep and green ascent;
And not a willow's left, of those
 That o'er the rill once bent.
Aye, look, there are the foot-prints mark'd
 Of change on every side;
How much has altered since the bells
 First hail'd thee as my bride.
And in this dream of chance and change,
 We, too, have had our part—
In years, in face, in thought, have chang'd,
 In all, except the heart.
But there at least there is no change;
 There Love is burning still;
As constant as the sun at noon
 On yonder southern hill. L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1823/Valedictory Lines

Literary Gazette, 28th June 1823, Page 411
VALEDICTORY LINES To a Cadet on embarking for India.
Young Soldier! are not thy hopes   Light as the birds of the spring,  When their flight is amid new flowers,   Whose fragrance buoys up their wing?    Sweet will be the voice of their singing,   For awhile their flight will be gay;  But the flowers around them are falling,   And as those blossoms pass, so will they.    Yet sometimes one bird survives,   And one flower lives sweetly on,  Saved from the storm and the snare,   While the rest of their race are gone.    And such, young Soldier, I trust   Is what thy fate will be;  That the God which saved the flower and bird   Will watch in his care o'er thee!    Thou hast that which availeth thee much:   Pure prayers of the holiest love;  The sigh of thy Mother, her midnight sigh,   Cannot be unheard above. 
Be thy pathway such as shall flush   The cheek of thy Father with pride;  Be thy step the first in the ranks,   Where the brave fight side by side.    Be thy sweet home-thoughts a spell   To keep thy heart as a taintless shrine,  That never the sullying love of gold   May darken a spirit like thine.    Farewell! be thy doom as bright   As the bright land where thou wilt roam;  Thy colours be hope and success,—   Thy motto be, Love and my home. —L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Antinous

Literary Gazette, 15th May, 1824, Page 316
ORIGINAL POETRY. ANTINOUS.
The thick curls cluster round thy graceful head,
And over thy pale forehead, where the mind
Her visible temple hath; upon thy lip
Is throned a rich yet melancholy smile—
So sad, it seems prophetic of the doom
That hangs on thy young life; and thine eye wears
An inward look, where outward things but pass
Unnoticed—thou dost hold communion with
Thoughts dark and terrible. A blight hangs o'er
The spring flowers of thy morn, the seeds of death Are sown within thy bosom, and there is
Upon thee consciousness of fate. The light
That lingers on thy face is as a star—
The last remaining one—a shadowy beam
Of those which have been. Ardent hopes were thine, And dreams of victories and high renown,
Ere health departed; and on thy wan lip
And hope-forsaken cheek a spirit burns,
Which will not wholly pass till in the grave.
I looked upon thee, young Antinous! thou
Wert like the lovely presence of a dream,
Such shapes as come, when o'er the sleeper's brain
The memory floats of some wild maddening tale,
And he has slept, his inmost spirit filled
With sorrow's beautiful imaginings.
How often have I gazed on thee, and felt
An interest almost like to life in thee!
Thine influence is upon the heart! around
Are many glorious forms—kings, heroes, gods,
Bright queens and nymphs radiant in loveliness—
Yet the eye turns to thee; for thou hast power
To awaken such sweet sympathies. We think
Of youth and beauty, gathered like the rose
On the first blushing of its purple morn;
We look on those with wonder and delight—
We look on thee, and weep! L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Absence

Literary Gazette, 10th April, 1824, Page 236
LOVE IN ABSENCE.
Oh, tell me not that this is life,
 The life that now I lead;
The life that wants the light of life
 Is worse than death indeed!
Love is life's light; and, lost that light,
What star can rise on such a night?
I dread the pictures of my dreams,
 For, then I gaze on thee;
And thou art near, and thou art all
 That I would have thee be.
And then I startle from my sleep,
And know all false, and watch and weep.
I would I were upon a bark!
 That bark before the wind;—
I would sail o'er the sea, and leave
 All thoughts of thee behind:—
How very vain! I could not flee
The spell of passion set by Thee.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1823/Vandyke consulting his Mistress on a Picture

Literary Gazette, 15th March 1823, Page 171
ORIGINAL POETRY.
POETICAL CATALOGUE OF PICTURES.
[To be continued occasionally.]
Vandyke consulting his Mistress on a Picture in Cooke's Exhibition.
Beautiful Art! my worship is for thee—
The heart's entire devotion. When I look
Upon thy radiant wonders, every pulse
Is thrill'd as in the presence of divinity.
Pictures, bright pictures, oh! they are to me
A world for thought to revel in. I love
To give a history to every face, to think—
As I thought with the painter—as I knew
What his high communing had been.
Yes, he is seeking in those eyes
His light, his fame, his own heart prize!
How vain to that idolater
Is this world's praise, if wanting her
Sweet seal, a smile. His lofty brow
Has almost woman's softness now;
And that dark cheek, and darker eye
Where lightning-gleams of genius lie,
And that so haughty lip's proud curl,
Are mild before that fair young girl,
As if that delicate slight hand
Had magic like a fairy wand,
As if those deep blue eyes had power
Like sunshine in a stormy hour.
 It was an almost childish face,
Yet in its first soft spring of grace—
A rosebud, ere the sun has set
Which saw it bloom; a violet,
Or ere the tears of morning melt—
The first dew-fall it ever felt.
Yet was it pale, as with excess
Of overmuch fond tenderness.
Her mouth—a very mine of bliss,
A blossom fresh from the bee's kiss,—
Was near to his, as if to steal
But one breath from him was to feel
The air of paradise;—her arm
Was round his neck;—and oh the charm
Of the delicious drooping lid
Which half her soft eye's lustre hid!
Ah, Woman has no look so sweet
As that, when, half afraid to meet
The look she loves, blushes betray
All the suppressed glance would say.
'Tis a sweet picture! But what shade
Would not be lovely, which pourtrayed
Genius and love, the union bright
Of meteor-flash and soft moonlight?
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1824/Constancy 1

Literary Gazette, 14th August, 1824, Pages 524
ORIGINAL POETRY. CONSTANCY, A SONG.
Forget thee—or forget
 What my heart hath so dearly known?
Deemest thou that wholly from earth
 All truth and faith are flown?
Oh! write your love on the sand ,
 And the wave will wash it away;
Or, place your trust in the flower
 The next summer sun will decay!
But take an emerald ring,
 And thereon grave your name;
Thro' the lapse and change of years
 It still will be the same.
And such my heart—if you fear
 That aught like change will be shown;
’Tis I that shall weep for the change,
 For the falsehood must be thine own.
L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1823/Two Doves in a Grove

Literary Gazette, 19th April 1823, Page 250
FINE ARTS. GLOVER'S GALLERY.
This beautiful landscape painter has again opened his Gallery in Bond Street. To the pictures of last season his industry has added about twenty new subjects, full of nature and truth. These are chiefly from scenery in Yorkshire; but the picturesque forms of Dovedale in Derbyshire, also contribute to enrich the exhibition. In these we witness the closest details combined with the finest natural effects; the striking variations of light and shadow, so often observable as they rapidly and partially change the features of the landscape, are delightfully preserved; and on the whole, we think the additions, additions also to the reputation of the artist.
Literary Gazette, 10th May 1823, Page 299-300
Two Doves in a Grove. Mr. Glover's Exhibition.
June bloom and foliage were upon the trees,
And glimpses of a blue and sunny light
Came through the hawthorn canopy, where leaves
Of emerald freshness blended with white showers
Of the luxuriant blossoms. On a bough,
The only one chained by the honeysuckle,
Sat two white Doves, upon each neck a tint
Like the rose-stain within the delicate shell
Of the sea-pearl, as Love breathed on their plumes.
And each was mirror'd in the other's eyes,
Floating and dark, a paradise of passion.
And on the ground, half hidden by the grass
And the pink clover flowers, lay a moss nest,
The sweet home palace of those birds. There came
A dim remembrance of a fairy tale,—
Those tales mine earliest dreams of poetry:
When halls built of the rainbows, perfumed isles
Lighted by roses, caves of gold and gems
Where Genii kept their treasures, gardens where
The fountains played in music; when these realms
Were my heart's world, and magic spells had charms
Whose power to me was passionate happiness.
There was one favourite tale: In the hot noon
I wont to seek a little lonely nook,—
None sought it but myself,— and read it there,
My graver task too often laid aside
For this sweet secret idlesse. There I lay
Half buried by long grass and violets,
One arm on an old trunk, and with my book
Pillowed upon the moss, the sun shut out
By the dark yew o'erhead, and on one side
Hung two most graceful willows, and the pond
Beneath was like their mirror, and the sun
Shone through at times, and there like silver barks
(Just a ship for Camdeo) white and tall,
Floated the water lilies. This sweet tale
Was of two lovers, true, though tried by all
Of peril and of sorrow that the heart ,
Could bear and yet not break. There was one,
A gentle Fairy, pitied them, and gave
A gift of quiet happiness at last:
And two fair Doves, in the calm greenwood shade,
Their pleasant life was past. And this sweet dream
Of the fine Painter called this tale to mind,
With all its tenderness, its luxury
Of peace and feeling. Love, oh love! thy home
Is not in this rude world; oh gold and care
Are thy death sickness. L. E. L.
# Letters of Two Brides/Chapter L

Louise, can it be that, with all your knowledge of the deep-seated mischief wrought by the indulgence of passion, even within the heart of marriage, you are planning a life of wedded solitude? Having sacrificed your first husband in the course of a fashionable career, would you now fly to the desert to consume a second? What stores of misery you are laying up for yourself!
But I see from the way you have set about it that there is no going back. The man who has overcome your aversion to a second marriage must indeed possess some magic of mind and heart; and you can only be left to your illusions. But have you forgotten your former criticism on young men? Not one, you would say, but has visited haunts of shame, and has besmirched his purity with the filth of the streets. Where is the change, pray—in them or in you?
You are a lucky woman to be able to believe in happiness. I have not the courage to blame you for it, though the instinct of affection urges me to dissuade you from this marriage. Yes, a thousand times, yes, it is true that nature and society are at one in making war on absolute happiness, because such a condition is opposed to the laws of both; possibly, also, because Heaven is jealous of its privileges. My love for you forebodes some disaster to which all my penetration can give no definite form. I know neither whence nor from whom it will arise; but one need be no prophet to foretell that the mere weight of a boundless happiness will overpower you. Excess of joy is harder to bear than any amount of sorrow.
Against him I have not a word to say. You love him, and in all probability I have never seen him; but some idle day I hope you will send me a sketch, however slight, of this rare, fine animal.
If you see me so resigned and cheerful, it is because I am convinced that, once the honeymoon is over you will both with one accord, fall back into the common track. Some day, two years hence, when we are walking along this famous road, you will exclaim, "Why, there is the chalet which was to be my home for ever!" And you will laugh your dear old laugh, which shows all your pretty teeth!
I have said nothing yet to Louis; it would be too good an opening for his ridicule. I shall tell him simply that you are going to be married, and that you wish it kept secret. Unluckily, you need neither mother nor sister for your bridal evening. We are in October now; like a brave woman, you are grappling with winter first. If it were not a question of marriage, I should say you were taking the bull by the horns. In any case, you will have in me the most discreet and intelligent of friends. That mysterious region, known as the centre of Africa, has swallowed up many travelers, and you seem to me to be launching on an expedition which, in the domain of sentiment, corresponds to those where so many explorers have perished, whether in the sands or at the hands of natives. Your desert is, happily, only two leagues from Paris, so I can wish you quite cheerfully, "A safe journey and speedy return."
# Letters of Two Brides/Chapter LVI

Ah! my dear friend, what can I say in answer except the cruel "It is too late" of that fool Lafayette to his royal master? Oh! my life, my sweet life, what physician will give it back to me. My own hand has dealt the deathblow. Alas! have I not been a mere will-o'-the-wisp, whose twinkling spark was fated to perish before it reached a flame? My eyes rain torrents of tears—and yet they must not fall when I am with him. I fly to him, and he seeks me. My despair is all within. This torture Dante forgot to place in his Inferno. Come to see me die!
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Inscriptions/I Hear America Singing

I HEAR AMERICA SINGING.
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Inscriptions/In Cabin'd Ships at Sea

IN CABIN'D SHIPS AT SEA.
In cabin'd ships at sea, The boundless blue on every side expanding, With whistling winds and music of the waves, the large imperious waves, Or some lone bark buoy'd on the dense marine, Where joyous full of faith, spreading white sails, She cleaves the ether mid the sparkle and the foam of day, or under many a star at night, By sailors young and old haply will I, a reminiscence of the land, be read, In full rapport at last.
Here are our thoughts, voyagers' thoughts, Here not the land, firm land, alone appears, may then by them be said, The sky overarches here, we feel the undulating deck beneath our feet, We feel the long pulsation, ebb and flow of endless motion, The tones of unseen mystery, the vague and vast suggestions of the briny world, the liquid flowing syllables, The perfume, the faint creaking of the cordage, the melancholy rhythm, The boundless vista and the horizon far and dim air all here, And this is ocean's poem.
Then falter not O book, fulfil your destiny, You not a reminiscence of the land alone, You too as a lone bark cleaving the ether, purpos'd I know not whither, yet ever full of faith, Consort to every ship that sails, sail you! Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold it here in every leaf;) Speed on my book! spread your white sails my little bark athwart the imperious waves, Chant on, sail on, bear o'er the boundless blue from me to every sea, This song for mariners and all their ships.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Inscriptions/For Him I Sing

FOR HIM I SING.
For him I sing, I raise the present on the past, (As some perennial tree out of its roots, the present on the past,) With time and space I him dilate and fuse the immortal laws, To make himself by them the law unto himself.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Inscriptions/Me Imperturbe

ME IMPERTURBE.
Me imperturbe, standing at ease in Nature, Master of all or mistress of all, aplomb in the midst of irrational things, Imbued as they, passive, receptive, silent as they, Finding my occupation, poverty, notoriety, foibles, crimes, less important than I thought, Me toward the Mexican sea, or in the Mannahatta or the Tennessee, or far north or inland, A river man, or a man of the woods or of any farm-life of these States or of the coast, or the lakes or Kanada, Me wherever my life is lived, O to be self-balanced for contingencies, To confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Inscriptions/One's-Self I Sing

ONE'S-SELF I SING.
One's-Self I sing, a simple separate person, Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse.
Of physiology from top to toe I sing, Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say the Form complete is worthier far, The Female equally with the Male I sing.
Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful, for freest action form'd under the laws divine, The Modern Man I sing.