OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Lyrical Ballads (1800)/Volume 1/We are Seven

WE ARE SEVEN.
A simple child, dear brother Jim, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage girl, She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That cluster'd round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were fair, and very fair, —Her beauty made me glad.
​"Sisters and brothers, little maid, "How many may you be?" "How many? seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
"And where are they, I pray you tell?" She answered, "Seven are we, "And two of us at Conway dwell, "And two are gone to sea.
"Two of us in the church-yard lie, "My sister and my brother, "And in the church-yard cottage, I "Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell, "And two are gone to sea, "Yet you are seven; I pray you tell "Sweet Maid, how this may be?"
​Then did the little Maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; "Two of us in the church-yard lie, "Beneath the church-yard tree."
"You run about, my little maid, "Your limbs they are alive; "If two are in the church-yard laid, "Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little Maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mothers door, "And they are side by side.
"My stockings there I often knit, "My 'kerchief there I hem; "And there upon the ground I sit— "I sit and sing to them.
​"And often after sunset, Sir, "When it is light and fair, "I take my little porringer, "And eat my supper there.
"The first that died was little Jane; "In bed she moaning lay, "Till God released her of her pain, "And then she went away.
"So in the church-yard she was laid, "And all the summer dry, "Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I.
"And when the ground was white with snow, "And I could run and slide, "My brother John was forced to go, "And he lies by her side."
​"How many are you then," said I, "If they two are in Heaven?" The little Maiden did reply, "O Master! we are seven."
"But they are dead; those two are dead! "Their spirits are in heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away; for still The little Maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!"
# Lyrical Ballads (1800)/Volume 2/'Tis said that some have died for love

'Tis said, that some have died for love: And here and there a church-yard grave is found In the cold North's unhallow'd ground, Because the wretched man himself had slain, His love was such a grievous pain. And there is one whom I five years have known; He dwells alone Upon Helvellyn's side. He loved——The pretty Barbara died, And thus he makes his moan: Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid When thus his moan he made.
​Oh! move thou Cottage from behind that oak Or let the aged tree uprooted lie, That in some other way yon smoke May mount into the sky! The clouds pass on; they from the Heavens depart: I look—the sky is empty space; I know not what I trace; But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart.
O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves, When will that dying murmur be suppress'd? Your sound my heart of peace bereaves, It robs my heart of rest. Thou Thrush, that singest loud and loud and free, Into yon row of willows flit, Upon that alder sit; Or sing another song, or chuse another tree
​Roll back, sweet rill! back to thy mountain bounds, And there for ever be thy waters chain'd! For thou dost haunt the air with sounds That cannot be sustain'd; If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough Headlong yon waterfall must come, Oh let it then be dumb!— Be any thing, sweet rill, but that which thou art now.
Thou Eglantine whose arch so proudly towers (Even like a rainbow spanning half the vale) Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers, And stir not in the gale. For thus to see thee nodding in the air, To see thy arch thus stretch and bend, Thus rise and thus descend, Disturbs me, till the sight is more than I can bear.
​The man who makes this feverish complaint Is one of giant stature, who could dance Equipp'd from head to foot in iron mail. Ah gentle Love! if ever thought was thine To store up kindred hours for me, thy face Turn from me, gentle Love, nor let me walk Within the sound of Emma's voice, or know Such happiness as I have known to-day.
# Lyrical Ballads (1800)/Volume 2/A Character

A CHARACTER,
In the antithetical Manner.
I marvel how Nature could ever find space For the weight and the levity seen in his face: There's thought and no thought, and there's paleness and bloom, And bustle and sluggishness, pleasure and gloom.
There's weakness, and strength both redundant and vain; Such strength, as if ever affliction and pain Could pierce through a temper that's soft to disease, Would be rational peace—a philosopher's ease.
There's indifference, alike when he fails and succeeds, And attention full ten times as much as there needs, Pride where there's no envy, there's so much of joy; And mildness, and spirit both forward and coy.
​There's freedom, and sometimes a diffident stare Of shame scarcely seeming to know that she's there. There's virtue, the title it surely may claim, Yet wants, heaven knows what, to be worthy the name.
What a picture! 'tis drawn without nature or art, —Yet the Man would at once run away with your heart, And I for five centuries right gladly would be Such an odd, such a kind happy creature as he.
# Lyrical Ballads (1800)/Volume 2

LYRICAL BALLADS,
WITH
OTHER POEMS.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
By W. WORDSWORTH.
Quam nihil ad genium, Papiniane, tuum!
VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND O. REES, PATERNOSTER-ROW, BY BIGGS AND CO. BRISTOL.
1800.
CONTENTS.
| | Page |
| Hart-leap Well | 1 |
| There was a Boy, &c | 14 |
| The Brothers, a Pastoral Poem | 19 |
| Ellen Irwin, or the Braes of Kirtle | 46 |
| Strange fits of passion I have known, &c. | 50 |
| Song | 52 |
| A slumber did my spirit seal, &c. | 53 |
| The Waterfall and the Eglantine | 54 |
| The Oak and the Broom, a Pastoral | 58 |
| Lucy Gray | 64 |
| The Idle Shepherd-Boys, or Dungeon-Gill Force, a Pastoral | 69 |
| 'Tis said that some have died for love, &c. | 76 |
| Poor Susan | 80 |
| Inscription for the Spot where the Hermitage stood on St. Herbert's Island, Derwent-Water | 82 |
| Inscription for the House (an Out-house) on the Island at Grasmere | 84 |
| To a Sexton | 86 |
| Andrew Jones | 89 |
| The two Theives, or the last stage of Avarice | 92 |
| A whirl-blast from behind the Hill, &c. | 96 ​ |
| Song for the wandering Jew | 98 |
| Ruth | 103 |
| Lines written with a Slate-Pencil upon a Stone, &c. | 117 |
| Lines written on a Tablet in a School | 120 |
| The two April Mornings | 123 |
| The Fountain, a conversation | 127 |
| Nutting | 132 |
| Three years she grew in sun and shower, &c. | 136 |
| The Pet-Lamb, a Pastoral | 139 |
| Written in Germany on one of the coldest days of the century | 144 |
| The Childless Father | 147 |
| The Old Cumberland Beggar, a Description | 151 |
| Rural Architecture | 163 |
| A Poet's Epitaph | 165 |
| A Character | 169 |
| A Fragment | 171 |
| Poems on the Naming of Places | 177 to 196 |
| Michael, a Pastoral | 199 |
| Notes to the Poem of The Brothers | 226 |
| Notes to the Poem of Michael | 227 |
Layout 2
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
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 58

To MRS. RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, Sept 6, 1805.
Thank you, thank you. Unless you could jump into that skin out of which I was ready to jump when your letter was read, you could not tell how very much I am obliged by your so kindly consenting to come.
I have been at Pakenham Hall and Castle Forbes: at Pakenham Hall I was delighted with "that sweetest music," the praises of a friend, from a person of judgment and taste. I do not know when I have felt so much pleasure as in hearing sweet Kitty Pakenham speak of your Sophy; I never saw her look more animated or more pretty than when she was speaking of her.
Lady Elizabeth Pakenham has sent to me a little pony, as quiet and almost as small as a dog, on which I go trit-trot, trit-trot; but I hope it will never take it into its head to add
    When we come to the stile,
    Skip we go over.
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 55

To C. SNEYD EDGEWORTH, AT TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, May 4, 1805.
We are all very happy and tolerably merry with the assistance of William and the young tribe, who are always at his heels and in full chorus with him. Charlotte cordials me twice a day with Cecilia, which she reads charmingly, and which entertains me as much at the third reading as it did at the first.
We are a little, but very little afraid of being swallowed up by the French: they have so much to swallow and digest before they come to us! They did come once very near to be sure, but they got nothing by it.
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 62

MARIA to MRS. EDGEWORTH.
ALLENSTOWN, May-day, 1806.
Dr. Beaufort, tell Charlotte, saw Sir Arthur Wellesley at the Castle: handsome, very brown, quite bald, and a hooked nose. He could not travel with Lady Wellesley; he went by the mail. He had overstayed his leave a day. She travelled under the care of his brother, the clergyman.
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 56

To MISS S. RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, June 1, 1805.
My father's birthday was kept yesterday, much more agreeably than last year, for then we had company in the house. Yesterday Sneyd, now at home for his vacation, who is ever the promoter of gaiety, contrived a pretty little fête champêtre, which surprised us all most agreeably. After dinner he persuaded me that it was indispensably necessary for my health that I should take an airing; accordingly the chaise came to the door, and Anne Nangle, and my mother, with little Lucy in her arms, and Maria were rolled off, and after them on horseback came rosy Charlotte, all smiles, and Henry, with eyes brilliant with pleasure—riding again with Charlotte after eight months' absence. It was a delightful evening, and we thought we were pleasing ourselves sufficiently by the airing, so we came home thinking of nothing at all, when, as we drove round, our ears were suddenly struck with the sound of music, and as if by enchantment, a fairy festival appeared upon the green. In the midst of an amphitheatre of verdant festoons suspended from white staffs, on which the scarlet streamers of the yeomen were flying, appeared a company of youths and maidens in white, their heads adorned with flowers, dancing; while their mothers and their little children were seated on benches round the amphitheatre. John Langan sat on the pier of the dining-room steps, with Harriet on one knee and Sophy on the other, and Fanny standing beside him. In the course of the evening William danced a reel with Fanny and Harriet, to the great delight of the spectators. Cakes and syllabubs served in great abundance by good Kitty, formed no inconsiderable part of the pleasures of the evening. William, who is at present in the height of electrical enthusiasm, proposed to the dancers a few electrical sparks, to complete the joys of the day. All—men, women, and children—flocked into the study after him to be shocked, and their various gestures and expressions of surprise and terror mixed with laughter, were really diverting to my mother, Anne Nangle, and me, who had judiciously posted ourselves in the gallery. Charlotte and Sneyd, as soon as it was dark, came to summon us, and we found the little amphitheatre on the grass-plat illuminated, the lights mixed with the green boughs and flowers were beautiful, and boys with flambeaux waving about had an excellent effect. I do wish you could have seen the honest, happy face of George, as he held his flambeau bolt upright at his station, looking at his own pretty daughter Mary. O my dear aunt, how much our pleasure would have been increased if you had been sitting beside us at the dining-room window.
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 61

MRS. EDGEWORTH to MISS SOPHY RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, April 3, 1806.
We were at Gaybrook when your letter came, and when the good news of Miss Pakenham's happiness arrived: it was announced there in a very pleasant, sprightly letter from your friend Miss Fortescue. Your account of the whole affair is really admirable, and is one of those tales of real life in which the romance is far superior to the generality of fictions. I hope the imaginations of this hero and heroine have not been too much exalted, and that they may not find the enjoyment of a happiness so long wished for inferior to what they expected. Pray tell dear good Lady Elizabeth we are so delighted with the news, and so engrossed by it, that, waking or sleeping, the image of Miss Pakenham swims before our eyes. To make the romance perfect we want two material documents—a description of the person of Sir Arthur, and a knowledge of the time when the interview after his return took place.

## Footnotes

* ↑ Catherine, second daughter of the second Lord Longford, married, 10th April 1806, Sir Arthur Wellesley, afterwards the first and great Duke of Wellington. He had, at this time, just returned from India, after a stay of eleven years.
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 63

To MISS MARGARET RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, May 23, 1806.
I have been laughed at most unmercifully by some of the phlegmatic personages round the library table for my impatience to send you The Mine. "Do you think Margaret cannot live five minutes longer without it? Saddle the mare, and ride to Dublin, and thence to Black Castle or Chantony with it, my dear!"
I bear all with my accustomed passiveness, and am rewarded by my father's having bought it for me; and it is now at Archer's for you. Observe, I think the poem, as a drama, tiresome in the extreme, and absurd, but I wish you to see that the very letters from the man in the quick-silver mine which you recommended to me have been seized upon by a poet of no inferior genius. Some of the strophes of the fairies are most beautifully poetic.
Lady Elizabeth Pakenham told us that when Lady Wellesley was presented to the Queen, Her Majesty said, "I am happy to see you at my court, so bright an example of constancy. If anybody in this world deserves to be happy, you do." Then Her Majesty inquired, "But did you really never write one letter to Sir Arthur Wellesley during his long absence?"—"No, never, madam."—"And did you never think of him? "—"Yes, madam, very often."
I am glad constancy is approved of at courts, and hope "the bright example" may be followed.
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 57

To MISS MARGARET RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, June 21, 1805.
I had a most pleasant long letter from my father to-day. He has become acquainted with Mrs. Crewe—"Buff and blue and Mrs. Crewe"—and gives an account of a déjeûner at which he assisted at her house at Hampstead as quite delightful. Miss Crewe charmed him by praising "To-morrow," and he claimed, he says, remuneration on the spot—a song, which it is not easy to obtain: she sang, and he thought her singing worthy of its celebrity. He was charmed with old Dr. Burney, who at eighty-two was the most lively, well-bred, agreeable man in the room. Lord Stanhope begged to be presented to him, and he thought him the most wonderful man he ever met.
Tell my aunt Leonora is in the press.
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 59

To MISS SOPHY RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, Feb. 7, 1806.
I am ashamed to tell you I have been so idle that I have not yet finished Madame de Fleury. You will allow that we have gadded about enough lately: Sonna, Pakenham Hall, Farnham, and Castle Forbes. I don't think I told you that I grew quite fond of Lady Judith Maxwell, and I flatter myself she did not dislike me, because she did not keep me in the ante-chamber of her mind, but let me into the boudoir at once.
So Lord Henry Petty is Chancellor of the Exchequer—at twenty-four on the pinnacle of glory!
Sneyd and Charlotte have begun Sir Charles Grandison: I almost envy them the pleasure of reading Clementina's history for the first time. It is one of those pleasures which is never repeated in life.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 131/Issue 1696

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XVI. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1696. — December 16, 1876. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXXI. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | Fermentation, and Its Bearings on the Phenomena of Disease. By Professor Tyndall, | Fortnightly Review, | 643 |
| II. | What She Came Through. By Sarah Tytler, author of "Lady Bell," etc., Part XXII., | Good Words, | 658 |
| III. | The Astronomy of the Future. A Speculation, | Fraser’s Magazine, | 667 |
| IV. | Cinderella, | Argosy, | 672 |
| V. | The Life of the Prince Consort, | Quarterly Review, | 680 |
| VI. | The New-Found Enemies of Man, | Spectator, | 697 |
| VII. | The Sea of Ancient Ice, | Academy, | 700 |
| VIII. | Erckmann-Chatrian. By Edmond About, | Athenæum, | 702 |
| IX. | On the Shelf, | Literal Review, | 703 |
POETRY. :
| The Night Cometh, | 642 | Two Songs. From the German of Heine, | 642 |
| Psalm CXLVIII., | 642 | Two Songs. From the German of Heine, | 642 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 131/Issue 1694/Miscellany

​Poisonous Enamel. — The thanks of every good housewife; as well as every one who has the good fortune to be catered for by such, are due to Mr. Tatlock, the analytical chemist, for the pains he has taken (says the Glasgow News) to demonstrate the dangers that lurk in enamelled cooking utensils. It is a common and very natural belief that vessels lined with a substance not distinguishable by the ordinary eye from porcelain are perfectly safe for all kinds of cooking, Mr. Tatlock finds that while this is true of some, made by certain manufacturers, it is the very reverse of the truth as regards others. In the Sanitary Record for September the 23rd will be found his analysis of three samples of the so-called porcelain. Without going into chemical details, it is enough to say that two out of the three contain very large quantities of lead, one as much as twenty-five per cent, of its weight. This lead is in an uncombined, or feebly combined condition, and is liable to be dissolved by very feeble acid solutions. There is probably no fruit except strawberries that would not dissolve it freely, and there can be little doubt that even water boiled in the vessels would take up a quantity quite sufficient to injure health. In addition to this, one of the samples contained over one per cent, of arsenic, another nearly a half per cent., and the third a mere trace, or, to be accurate, 1.50th per cent. Mr. Tatlock would add to the favor he has conferred upon the public if he would tell us which manufacturer avoids these dangerous ingredients.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 131/Issue 1695

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XVI. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1695. — December 9, 1876. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXXI. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | London Alms and London Pauperism, | Quarterly Review, | 579 |
| II. | What She Came Through. By Sarah Tytler, author of "Lady Bell," etc. Part XXI., | Good Words, | 595 |
| III. | The Rings of Saturn - Recent Discoveries. By Richard A. Proctor, | Fraser's Magazine, | 603 |
| IV. | Charlotte Bronte. A Monograph. Conclusion, | Macmillan's Magazine, | 611 |
| V. | The Laws of Dream-Fancy, | Cornhill Magazine, | 627 |
POETRY. :
| The Silent Pool, | 578 | A Model Maiden, | 578 |
| Miscellany, | Miscellany, | Miscellany, | 640 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 131/Issue 1694/Possibilities

* POSSIBILITIES.
* "On the earth the broken arcs, in the heaven a perfect round."
* R. Browning's Abt Vogler.
* "What are we all but a mood,
* A single mood of the life
* Of the Being in whom we exist,
* Who alone is all things in one?"
* M. Arnold
* When man at length his ideal height hath gained,
* So that the heavenly kingdom is attained,
* Will there be any room for tears and pain,
* For dim grey twilights, sobbing wind, and rain,
* Mist, wreaths, and flying clouds, the thunder's roar,
* Or the sea breaking on a lonely shore,
* With all the yearnings these things shadow forth?
* Is the pathetic minor but for earth,
* And will the heavens resound with joy alone,
* Though sadness often makes a deeper tone?
* Must all of life fall off that cannot show
* Some fruit that did to full perfection grow?
* The tottering steps, the pause, even the fall,
* Will not eternal life have time for all;
* And in the circle of infinity
* Must not all moods of life unfolded lie,
* But all complete,—the weak within the strong,
* And the one verse become a perfect song;
* The bud, the blossom, the fruit-laden bough,
* Seen by the light of the eternal now?
* May not all discords to one concord lead—
* Whose every missing note would leave a need
* Deep, unimagined as a world untrod—
* An infinite harmony whose name is God?
* Spectator.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 131/Issue 1695/The Silent Pool

* THE SILENT POOL.
* Beneath the surface of the crystal water
* Metallic shines a floor of frosted green;
* Uneven, like a depth of emerald lichen,
* Thro' ranks of dark weeds gleams its fairy sheen.
* Horsetails of varied growth and plumage sombre,
* Like ancient warriors in dark armor dight;
* Like fair young maidens' arms the prism-hued grass-leaves,
* Clinging in fond embrace before the fight.
* Round and about this silent pool the ash-trees
* Bend down in thirsty eagerness to drink;
* Amid their gray-green leaves show, keenly vivid,
* Long feathering laurel-sprays that clothe the brink.
* High up in air, some thirty feet or over,
* A wild white rose above the footpath clings;
* Fearless she clasps a tough, unyielding ash-trunk,
* And o'er the pool gay wreaths of blossom flings.
* Idly I drop a pebble in the water,
* Each sombre horsetail nods a plumed head;
* Like pearl or opal gem, the stone sinks slowly,
* Transmuted ere it reach its emerald bed.
* Mystic the emerald hue beneath the water,
* Weirdlike this tint by which the scene is haunted;
* Vainly I ask my senses if they wake,
* Or is the deep and silent pool enchanted?
* Now as the widening ripple circles shoreward,
* The plumed dusky warriors file away;
* The slender grass-blades wave bright arms imploring.
* Streaking with tender green the grim array.
* Leafless, a gaunt-armed giant oak, storm-scathed,
* In gnarled bareness overhangs the pool;
* Fantastic show its knotted limbs contorted,
* Grotesque and gray among the leafage cool.
* Caught here and there amid the feathered foliage
* Are glimpses of the far hills' softened blue,
* While overhead the clouds, snow-white and fleecy,
* Float slowly on a yet intenser hue.
* From Norman times 'tis said, maybe from Saxon,
* This calm tree-circled lake secluded lay,
* Pure as an infant's breast, its crystal mirror
* Baring its inmost depths to gaze of day.
* Some specks there are, some clay-flakes on its surface,
* To open view revealed, like childish sin;
* No roots have they, nor downward growth, to canker
* The purity that dwells the pool within.
* Mystic the em'rald hue beneath the water,
* Fairy the tint by which the scene is haunted;
* Vainly I ask my senses if they wake,
* Or is the clear and silent pool enchanted?
* The swallow flits two-bodied o'er the water,
* Its four wings like a windmill's sails outspread;
* Through the dark horsetails shoot the silver grayling,
* To seize the May-fly skimming overhead.
* Flying from lawless love — so runs the story —
* A maiden plunged beneath this silent wave;
* There, where a holly sits the bank so closely,
* She sprang and sank — beyond all power to save.
* Six hundred years and more since that dark legend,
* Legend that stained a king with lasting shame —
* And still the deep and silent pool lies crystal,
* Crystal and clear as that poor maiden's fame.
* Yet mystic is the hue beneath the water;
* Unreal the tint by which the scene is haunted; —
* Again I ask my senses if they wake,
* Or if the silent pool's indeed enchanted?
* Macmillan's Magazine.K. S. M..