OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Book of Scottish Song/Up wi' the Widow

Up wi' the Widow.
[From a collection of "Ancient Ballads and Songs, by Thomas Lyle," London, 1827.]
Welcome, my Johnnie, beardless an' bonnie, Ye're my conceit, though I'm courted by mony Come to the spence, my ain merry ploughman, Make it your hame, ye'll be baith het an' fu', man; Baith het an' fu', man, baith het an' fu', man, Make it your hame, ye'll be baith het an' fu', man.
Gin ye be tentie, ye shall ha'e plenty, Year after year, I ha'e dotted a renty, Byres fu' o' horse an' kye, barns fu' o' grain, man, Bukes fu' o' notes, an' a farm o' your ain, man.
At market or fiair, man, ye may be there, man, Buying or selling, wi' plenty to ware, man, Dress'd like a laird, in the bravest an' warmest, Or a gude beast, you'll ride up wi' the foremost.
Taupie young lassies, keeking in glasses, Wasting their siller on trinkets an' dresses, Think wi' yoursel', Johnnie, tak' wha ye may do, Ye may do waur than draw up wi' the widow, Up wi' the widow, up wi' the widow, Ye may do waur than draw up wi' the widow.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Up amang yon cliffy rocks

Up amang yon cliffy rocks.
[The composition of Mr. William Dudgeon (often by mistake called Robert Dudgeon) the son of a farmer in East Lothian, and himself an extensive farmer for many years at Preston, in Berwickshire. He died in October, 1813, aged about sixty. It will be remembered, that Burns, on his Border tour in May, 1787, fell in with him at Berrywell, and thus records his opinion of him: "Mr. Dudgeon—a poet at times—a worthy remarkable character—natural penetration—a great deal of information, some genius, and extreme modesty."]
Up amang yon cliffy rocks, Sweetly rings the rising echo, To the maid that tends the goats, Lilting o'er her native notes. Hark, she sings, "Young Sandy's kind, An' he's promis'd aye to lo'e me; Here's a broach I ne'er shall tine, Till he's fairly married to me; Drive away, ye drone, Time, An' bring about our bridal day.
"Sandy herds a flock o' sheep, Aften does he blaw the whistle, In a strain sae saftly sweet, Lammies list'ning daurna bleat. He's as fleet's the mountain roe, Hardy as the highland heather, Wading through the winter snow, Keeping aye his flock together; But a plaid, wi' bare houghs, He braves the bleakest norlan blast. ​"Brawly can he dance and sing, Canty glee or highland cronach; Nane can ever match his fling, At a reel, or round a ring; Wightly can he wield a rung, In a brawl he's aye the bangster: A' his praise can ne'er be sung By the langest-winded sangster. Sangs that sing o' Sandy Seem short, tho' they were e'er sae lang."
# The Book of Scottish Song/Wae be to the orders

Wae be to the orders.
[William Motherwell.—Music by R. A. Smith.]
Oh wae be to the orders that marched my luve awa' And wae be to the cruel cause that gars my tears doun fa'! Oh wae be to the bluidy wars in Hie Germanie, For they ha'e ta'en my luve, and left a broken heart to me!
The drums beat in the mornin' afore the scriech o' day, And the wee wee fifes piped loud and shrill, while yet the morn was grey; The bonnie flags were a' unfurl'd, a gallant sight to see, But waes me for my sodger lad that marched to Germanie.
Oh, lang, lang is the travel to the bonnie Pier o' Leith, Oh dreich it is to gang on foot wi' the snaw drift in the teeth! And oh, the cauld wind froze the tear that gather'd in my e'e, When I gade there to see my luve embark for Germanie!
I looked ower the braid blue sea, sae lang as could be seen Ae wee bit sail upon the ship, that my sodger lad was in; But the wind was blawin' sair and snell, and the ship sailed speedilie, And the waves and cruel wars ha'e twinn'd my winsome luve frae me.
I never think o' dancin', and I downa try to sing, But a' the day I spier what news kind neibour bodies bring; I sometimes knit a stocking, if knittin' it may be, Syne for every loop that I cast on, I'm sure to let doun three.
My father says I'm in a pet, my mither jeers at me, And bans me for a dautit wean, in dorts for aye to be; But little weet they o' the cause that drumles sae my e'e: Oh they ha'e nae winsome luve like mine in the wars o' Germanie!
# The Book of Scottish Song/Two Original Songs by Tannahill

Two Original Songs.
BY TANNAHILL.
[The following songs, by Robert Tannahill, are, so far as is known to us, here printed for the first time. We were favoured with them by the poet's brother, Mr. Matthew Tannahill of Paisley, who says they were composed when their author was about 16 or 17 years of age. The first is to the old air of "Good night and joy be wi' you a'" The second is to the tune of "The Lea Rig."]
I.
The evening sun's gaen down the west, The birds sit nodding on the tree; All nature now prepares for rest, But rest prepared there's none for me. The trumpet sounds to war's alarms, The drums they beat, the fifes they play,— Come, Mary, cheer me wi' thy charms, For the morn I will be far away.
Good night and joy, good night and joy, Good night and joy be wi' you a'; For since it's so that I must go, Good night and joy be wi' you a'!
I grieve to leave my comrades dear, I mourn to leave my native shore,— To leave my aged parents here, And the bonnie lass whom I adore. But tender thoughts maun now be hush'd, When danger calls I must obey.— The transport waits us on the coast, And the morn I will be far away. Good night and joy, &c.
Adieu, dear Scotia's sea-beat coast! Though bleak and drear thy mountains be, When on the heaving ocean tost, I'll cast a wishful look to thee! And now, dear Mary, fare thee well! May Providence thy guardian be! Or in the camp, or on the field, I'll heave a sigh, and think on thee! Good night and joy, &c.
II.
[In introducing this second song, Mr. Matthew Tannahill says in the communication with which we are favoured: "My brother had a strong wish to see Alloway's auld haunted kirk, and he and two or three of his young acquaintances set out to pay it a visit. After seeing the kirk, they visited some of the surrounding scenery. I remember he was well pleased with the jaunt, and, when he returned, he gave me a copy of two verses of a son which he said he wrote in his bed-room the first time he was in the town of Ayr. I know he did not think much of them himself, and I believe he never wrote another copy. I give you them, however, such as they are."]
When I the dreary mountains pass'd, My ain kind dearie, O, I thought on thee, my bonnie lass, Although I was na near thee, O. My heart within me was right sad, When others they were cheerie, O, They little kent I thought on thee. My ain kind dearie, O!
But now an I ha'e won till Ayr, Although I'm gae an' wearie, O, I'll tak' a glass into my han', And drink to you, my dearie, O. Cheer up your heart, my bonnie lass, And see you dinna wearie, O; In twice three ooks, gin I be spared, I'se come again, and see thee, O.
And row thee up, and row thee down. And row thee till I wearie, O, And row thee o'er the lea rig, My ain kind dearie, O!
# The Book of Scottish Song/Up and waur them a'

Up and waur them a'.
[This seems to be the second song in point of seniority on the subject of the battle of Sheriff-muir. Nothing is known of the author. We find great difference of reading in different copies, but here follow the version given in Hogg's Jacobite Relics. The chorus belongs to an old doggrel song, and the tune is very popular.]
When we went to the field o' war, And to the weaponshaw, Willie, Wi' true design to serve our king, And chase our faes awa', Willie; Lairds and lords came there bedeen, And wow gin they were sma', Willie, While pipers play'd frae right to left, Fy, furich Whigs awa', Willie. Up and waur them a', Willie, Up and waur them a', Willie, Up and sell your sour milk, And dance, and ding them a', Willie.
And when our army was drawn up, The bravest e'er I saw, Willie, We did not doubt to rax the rout, And win the day and a', Willie. Out-owre the brae it was nae play To get sae hard a fa', Willie, While pipers play frae right to left, Fy, furich Whigs awa', Willie. Up and waur, &c. ​But when our standard was set up, So fierce the wind did blaw, Willie, The golden knop down from the top Unto the ground did fa', Willie. Then second-sighted Sandy said, We'll do nae gude at a', Willie, While pipers play'd free right to left, Fy, furich Whigs awa', Willie. Up and waur, &c.
When brawly they attack'd our left, Our front, and flank, and a', Willie, Our bauld commander on the green, Our faes their left did ca', Willie, And there the greatest slaughter made That e'er poor Tonald saw, Willie, While pipers play'd frae right to left, Fy, furich Whigs awa', Wiilie. Up and waur, &c.
First when they saw our Highland mob, They swore they'd slay us a', Willie; And yet ane fyl'd his breeks for fear, And so did rin awa', Willie. We drave them back to Bonnybrigs, Dragoons, and foot, and a', Willie, While pipers play'd frae right to left, Fy, furich Whigs awa', Willie. Up and waur, &c.
But when their general viewed our lines, And them in order saw, Willie, He straight did inarch into the town, And back his left did draw, Willie. Thus we taught them the better gate To get a better fa', Willie, While pipers play'd frae right to left, Fy, furich Whigs awa', Willie. Up and waur, &c.
And then we rallied on the hills, And bravely up did draw, Willie; But gin ye speer wha wan the day. I'll tell ye what I saw, Willie: We baith did fight, and baith were beat, And baith did rin awa', Willie. So there's my canty Highland sang, About the thing I saw, Wiilie. Up and waur, &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Up in the air

Up in the air.
[This convivial song is by Allan Ramsay. It will be remembered that the burthen of the first verse,
"Up in the air On my bonnie grey mare, And I see her yet, and I see her yet"—
is put into the mouth of poor Madge Wildfire, in Sir Walter Scott's inimitable tale of "The Heart of Mid Lothian."]
Now the sun's gane out o' sight, Beet the ingle, and snuff the light: In glens the fairies skip and dance, And witches wallop o'er to France. Up in the air On my bonny grey mare, And I see her yet, and I see her yet. Up in, &c.
The wind's drifting hail and sna', O'er frozen hags like a foot-ba'; Nae starns neek through the azure slit, 'Tis cauld and mirk as ony pit. The man i' the moon Is carousing aboon, D'ye see, d'ye see, d'ye see him yet. The man, &c.
Tak' your glass to clear your een, 'Tis the elixir heals the spleen, Baith wit and mirth it will inspire, And gently puffs the lover's fire. Up in the air, It drives away care, Ha'e wi' ye, ha'e wi' ye, and ha'e wi' ye, lads, yet. Up in, &c.
Steek the doors, keep out the frost, Come, Willy, gi'es about ye'r toast, Till't lads, and lilt it out, And let us ha'e a blythsome bowt. ​Up wi't, there, there, Dinna cheat, but drink fair, Huzza, huzza, and huzza lads, yet. Up wi't, &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Vittoria

Vittoria.
[William Glen—Air, "Whistle o'er the lave o't."—This song was written on the occasion of the battle of Vittoria, at which the 71st or Glasgow regiment of light infantry played a distinguished part. "We have been told, that when first produced at the old theatre in Queen street, Glasgow, the song was received with rapturous applause, and had a run of many nights.]
Sing a' ye bards wi' loud acclaim, High glory gie to gallant Grahame, Heap laurels on our Marshall's fame, Wha conquer'd at Vittoria. Triumphant freedom smiled on Spain, An' raised her stately form again, Whan the British Lion shook his mane On the mountains o' Vittoria.
Let blnst'rin' Suchet crously crack, Let Joseph rin the coward's track, And Jourdan wish his baton back, He left upon Vittoria , If eer they meet their worthy king, Let them dance rouu' him in a ring, An' some Scottish piper play the spring He blew them at Vittoria.
Gi's truth an' honour to the Dane, Gi'e German's monarch heart and brain; But aye in sic a cause as Spain, Gi'e Britons a Vittoria. The English Rose was ne'er sae red, The Shamrock waved whare glory led, And the Scottish Thistle raised its head, An' smiled upon Vittoria.
Loud was the battle's stormy swell, Whare thousands fought and mony fell; But the Glasgow heroes bore the bell At the battle of Vittoria. The Paris maids may ban them a', Their lads are maistly wede awa', An' cauld an' pale as wreaths o' snaw They lie upon Vittoria.
Wi' quakin' heart and tremblin' knees The Eagle standard-bearer flees, While the "meteor flag" flats to the breeze, An' wantons on Vittoria. Britannia's glory there was shown, By the undaunted Wellington, An' the tyrant trembled on his throne, Whan hearin' o' Vittoria.
Peace to the spirits o' the brave, Let a' their trophies for them wave. An' green be our Cadogan's grave, Upon thy field, Vittoria! There let eternal laurels bloom, While maidens mourn his early doom, An' deck his lowly honour'd tomb Wi' roses on Vittoria.
Ye Caledonian war-pipes play, Barossa heard your Highlan' lay, An' the gallant Scot show'd there that day, A prelude to Vittoria. Shout to the heroes—swell ilk voice. To them wha made poor Spain rejoice, Shout Wellington an' Lynedoch, boys, Barossa an' Vittoria!
# The Book of Scottish Song/Ungrateful Nannie

Ungrateful Nannie.
[This was a popular song during the early part of last century, and may be quoted as a favourable specimen of the fashionable pastoral which then prevailed. The author, Charles Hamilton, Lord Binning, eldest son of Thomas sixth earl of Haddington, was born in the year 1696, and died at Naples in 1732.]
Did ever swain a nymph adore As I ungrateful Nannie do? Was ever shepherd's heart so sore? Was ever broken heart so true? My cheeks are swell'd with tears; but she Has never shed a tear for me.
If Nannie call'd, did Robin stay, Or linger when she bade me run? She only had a word to say, And all she ask'd was quickly done. I always thought on her; but she Would ne'er bestow a thought on me.
To let her cows my clover taste, Have I not rose by break of day? When did her heifers ever fast, If Robin in his yard had hay? Though to my fields they welcome were, I never welcome was to her.
If Nannie ever lost a sheep, I cheerfully did give her two. Did not her lambs in safety sleep, Within my folds in frost and snow? Have they not there from cold been free? But Nannie still is cold to me.
When e'er I climb'd our orchard trees, The ripest fruit was kept for Nan: Oh, how these hands that drown'd her bees Were stung! I'll ne'er forget the pain: Sweet were the combs as sweet could be; But Nannie ne'er look'd sweet on me.
If Nannie to the well did come, 'Twas I that did her pitchers fill; Full as they were, I brought them home; Her corn I carried to the mill: My back did bear her sacks: but she
Could never bear the sight o' me.
To Nannie's poultry oats I gave; I'm sure they always had the best; Within this week her pigeons have Eat up a peck of peas at least. Her little pigeons kiss; but she Would never take a kiss from me.
Must Robin always Nannie woo? And Nannie still on Robin frown? Alas, poor wretch! what shall I do, If Nannie does not love me soon? If no relief to me she'll bring, I'll hang me in her apron string.
# The Black Man (Brown)/Samuel R. Ward

SAMUEL R. WARD
Few public speakers exercised greater influence in the pulpit and on the platform, in behalf of human freedom, than did Samuel R. Ward, in the early days of abolition agitation. From 1840 up to the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law, in 1850, he either preached or lectured in every church, hall, or school house in Western and Central New York. Endowed with superior mental powers, and having, through the aid of Hon. Gerrit Smith, obtained a good education, and being a close student, Mr. Ward's intellectual faculties are well developed. He was, for several years, settled over a white congregation, of the Presbyterian order, at South Butler, N. Y., where he preached with great acceptance, and was highly respected. As a speaker, he was justly held up as one of the ablest men, white or black, in the United States. The first time we ever heard him, (in 1842,) he was announced in the advertisement as "the black Daniel Webster." Standing above six feet in height, possessing a strong voice, and energetic in his gestures, Mr. Ward always impressed his highly finished and logical speeches upon his hearers. No ​detractor of the negro's abilities ever attributed his talents to his having Anglo-Saxon blood in his veins. As a black man, Mr. Ward was never ashamed of his complexion, but rather appeared to feel proud of it. When Captain Rynders and his followers took possession of the platform of the American Anti-Slavery Society, at their anniversary, in New York, in the spring of 1852, Frederick Douglass rose to defend the rights of the Association and the liberty of speech. Rynders objected to the speaker upon the ground that he was not a negro, but half white. Ward, being present, came forward, amid great applause, and the rowdy leader had to "knock under," and confess that genuine eloquence was not confined to the white man. William J. Wilson says of Ward, "Ideas form the basis of all Mr. Ward utters. If words and ideas are not inseparable, then, as mortar is to the stones that compose the building, so are his Words to his ideas. In this, I judge, lies Mr. Ward's greatest strength. Concise without abruptness; without extraordinary stress, always clear and forcible; if sparing of ornament, never inelegant,—in all, there appears a consciousness of strength, developed by close study and deep reflection, and only put forth because the occasion demands it. His appeals are directed rather to the understanding than the imagination; but so forcibly do they take, possession of it, that the heart unhesitatingly yields."
Mr. Ward visited England in 1852, where he Was regarded as an eloquent advocate of the rights of his race. He now resides at Kingston, Jamaica.
# The Black Man (Brown)/William Douglass

WILLIAM DOUGLASS.
William Douglass was a clergyman of the Protestant Episcopal denomination, and for a number of years was rector of St. Thomas Church, Philadelphia. We met Mr. Douglass in England in 1852, and became impressed with the belief that he was no ordinary man. He had a finished education, being well versed in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. He possessed large and philanthropic views, but was extremely diffident, which gave one the opinion that he was a man of small ability. Being in Philadelphia in the spring of 1860, we attended the morning service at his church. When the preacher made his appearance, all eyes were turned to the pulpit. His figure was prepossessing—a great thing in a public speaker. Weak, stunted, deformed-looking men labor under much disadvantage. Mr. Douglass had a commanding look, a clear, musical voice, and was a splendid reader. He was no dull drone when the service was over and the sermon had commenced. With downcast eye he read no moral essay that touched no conscience and fired no heart. On the contrary, he was spirited in the pulpit. He looked his congregation in the face; he directed his discourse to them. He took care that not a single word should lose its aim. No one fell asleep while he was speaking, but all seemed intensely interested in the subject in hand. Mr. Douglass was a general favorite with the people of his own city, and especially the members of his society. He was a talented writer, and published, a few years ago, a volume of sermons, ​which are filled with gems of thought and original ideas. A feeling of deep piety and humanity runs through the entire book. Mr. Douglass was of unmixed blood, gentlemanly in his manners, chaste in conversation, and social in private life. Though not active in public affairs, he was, nevertheless, interested in all that concerned the freedom and elevation of his race. He visited England and the West Indies some years ago, and had an extensive acquaintance beyond the limits of his own country. Mr. Douglass was respected and esteemed by the white clergy of Philadelphia, who were forced to acknowledge his splendid abilities.
# The Confessions of Nat Turner/A list of negroes brought before the court of Southampton

A List of Negroes brought before the Court of Southampton, with their owners' names, and sentence.
| Daniel, | Richard Porter, | Convicted. |
| Moses, | J.T. Barrow, | Do. |
| Tom, | Caty Whitehead, | Discharged. |
| Jack and Andrew, | Caty Whitehead, | Con. and transported. |
| Jacob, | Geo. H. Charlton, | Disch'd without trial. |
| Isaac, | Ditto, | Convi. and transported. |
| Jack, | Everett Bryant, | Discharged. |
| Nathan, | Benj. Blunt's estate, | Convicted. |
| Nathan, Tom, and Davy, (boys,) | Nathaniel Francis, | Convicted and transported. |
| Davy, | Elizabeth Turner, | Convicted. |
| Curtis, | Thomas Ridley, | Do. |
| Stephen, | Do. | Do. |
| Hardy and Isham, | Benjamin Edwards, | Convicted and transp'd. |
| Sam, | Nathaniel Francis, | Convicted. |
| Hark, | Joseph Travis' estate. | Do. |
| Moses, (a boy,) | Do. | Do. and transported |
| Davy, | Levi Waller, | Convicted. |
| Nelson, | Jacob Williams, | Do. |
| Nat, | Edm'd Turner's estate, | Do. |
| Jack, | Wm. Reese's estate, | Do. |
| Dred, | Nathaniel Francis, | Do. |
| Arnold, Artist, (free,) | | Discharged. |
| Sam, | J.W. Parker, | Acquitted. |
| Ferry and Archer, | J.W. Parker, | Disch'd without trial. |
| Jim, | William Vaughan, | Acquitted. |
| Bob, | Temperance Parker, | Do. |
| Davy, | Joseph Parker, | |
| Daniel, | Solomon D. Parker, | Disch'd without trial. |
| Thomas Haithcock, (free,) | | Sent on for further trial. ​ |
| Joe, | John C. Turner, | Convicted. |
| Lucy, | John T. Barrow, | Do. |
| Matt, | Thomas Ridley, | Acquitted. |
| Jim, | Richard Porter, | Do. |
| Exum Artes, (free,) | | Sent on for further trial. |
| Joe, | Richard P. Briggs, | Disch'd without trial. |
| Bury Newsome, (free,) | | Sent on for further trial. |
| Stephen | James Bell, | Acquitted. |
| Jim and Isaac, | Samuel Champion, | Convicted and trans'd. |
| Preston, | Hannah Williamson, | Acquitted. |
| Frank, | Solomon D. Parker, | Convi'd and transp'd. |
| Jack and Shadrach, | Nathaniel Simmons, | Acquitted. |
| Nelson, | Benj. Blunt's estate, | Do. |
| Sam, | Peter Edwards, | Convicted. |
| Archer, | Arthur G. Reese, | Acquitted. |
| Isham Turner, (free,) | | Sent on for further trial. |
| Nat Turner, | Putnam Moore, dec'd, | Convicted. |
# The Clerk of the Woods

THE CLERK OF THE WOODS
THE CLERK OF THE WOODS
BY
BRADFORD TORREY
"News of birds and blossoming."
Shelley.
BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY The Riverside Press, Cambridge 1904
COPYRIGHT 1903 BY BRADFORD TORREY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published September, 1903
The chapters of this book were written week by week for simultaneous publication in the "Evening Transcript" of Boston and the "Mail and Express" of New York, and were intended to be a kind of weekly chronicle of the course of events out-of-doors, as witnessed by a natural-historical observer. The title of the volume is the running title under which the articles were printed in the "Evening Transcript." It was chosen as expressive of the modest purpose of the writer, whose business was not to be witty or wise, but simply to "keep the records."
Books by Mr. Torrey.
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. Boston and New York.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Clerk's Prologue and Tale (Chaucer)

part of The Canterbury Tales and the story of Griselda
* The Clerkes Tale (1900) from The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer
* The Clerk’s Tale from The Canterbury Tales and Faerie Queene (1870) (transcription project)
* The Clerk’s Tale from The Canterbury tales of Geoffrey Chaucer (1914) (transcription project)
* The Clerk’s Tale from (unsourced)
Translations and Variations:
   * Three Unknown Poets from Stories from Old English Poetry by Abby Sage Richardson, 1899.
# The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge/Songs of the Fields/On Dream Water

ON DREAM WATER
And so, o'er many a league of sea We sang of those we left behind. Our ship split thro' the phosphor free, Her white sails pregnant with the wind, And I was wondering in my mind How many would remember me.
Then red-edged dawn expanded wide, A stony foreland stretched away, And bowed capes gathering round the tide Kept many a little homely bay. O joy of living there for aye, O Soul so often tried!