OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Transgression of Andrew Vane

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This novel is a work of fiction. The scene of the novel is Paris in the spring of 1900.

### Contents

* Verse
* Prologue
* Chapter I. Mr. Carnby Receives a Letter
* Chapter II. New Friends and Old
* Chapter III. The Girl in Red
* Chapter IV. Mother and Daughter
* Chapter V. The Good and Faithful Servant
* Chapter VI. A Revolt Suppressed
* Chapter VII. A Pledge of Friendship
* Chapter VIII. A Parley and a Prayer
* Chapter IX. The Woman in the Case
* Chapter X. The Fairy Godmother
* Chapter XI. Some After-dinner Conversation
* Chapter XII. Reaction
* Chapter XIII. Rhapsodie Hongroise, No. 2
* Chapter XIV. Fate is Hard—Cash!
* Chapter XV. “As it was in the Beginnning, is now, and ever shall be”
* Chapter XVI. A Declaration of Independence
* Chapter XVII. A Dog and His Master
* Chapter XVIII. Fair Exchange is No Robbery
* Chapter XIX. Redemption
* Chapter XX. The Shadow
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 Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Miscellaneous Poems

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
Chance notes struck from the lute—fancies and thoughts— Shadows that haunt the poet's fairy land.
Love's words are writ on rose-leaves, but with tears.
These are the dreams that light my solitude: Warrior thoughts—had I been a young knight, And curb'd a gallant steed, and worn a sword,— Heaven knows I often wish it!—sadness, signs I fancy many a cheek betrays of love; Records of beauty, that has seem'd to me A thing for worship; thoughts that sprung from flowers; Feelings on which to meditate is all Woman's philosophy; sorrows that flung Darkness upon my heart; unkindness, wrong, Gentle affection too; all that hath made My minstrel annals, are upon these leaves.
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Poetical Portrait No. III

No. III.
His hand is on the snowy sail,  His step is on the prow, And back the cold night-winds have flung  The dark curls from his brow; That brow to which his native heaven A something of itself has given.
But all too mix'd with earthly stain,  The nameless shadowy care, Which tells, that though Heaven gave it birth,  Its home has not been there; And here, the earth and heaven seem blent In one discordant element.
It wears our nature's nobler part;  That spirit which doth spurn The weary bondage of our world,  And show what man can earn; Where, led by honourable pride, Hero and sage are deified;—
Those high imaginings which make  The glory which they hope; Fine-wrought aspirings, lofty aims,  Which have in youth such scope; Like tides which, haunted by the moon, Rise but, alas! to fall too soon.
Vain are these dreams, and vain these hopes;  And yet 'tis these give birth
To each high purpose, generous deed,  That sanctifies our earth. He who hath highest aim in view, Must dream at first what he will do.
Upon that youthful brow are traced  High impulses like these; But all too purposeless, like gales  That wander o'er the seas; Not winds that bear the vessel on, Fix'd to one point, and only one.
And meaner workings have deform'd  His natural noble mind; Those wretched aims which waste the ore  For happier use design'd.
And petty wishes, idle praise, Destroy the hopes of better days.
And hath no earlier vision taught  A more exalted creed? Alas! that such a mind should waste  Its powers away, to feed That wretched vanity which clings To life's debasing, paltry things.
The worthlessness of common praise,  The dry rot of the mind, By which its temple secretly  But fast is undermined. Alas! the praise given to the ear Ne'er was nor e'er can be sincere—
And does but waste away the mind  On which it preys:—in vain Would they in whom its poison lurks  A worthier state attain. Indifference proud, immortal aim, Had, aye, the demigods of fame.
The dew of night falls cold around,  Yet can it not allay The fever burning on thy cheek,  That eats thy life away; For thou dost know thy birthright sold For even less than his of old.
Thou know'st what thou hast power to be,  Thou know'st, too, what thou art;
And heavily does discontent  Sit rankling at thy heart; And thou dost mask thy grief the while With scornful sneer, and bitter smile.
But yet thou art too indolent  From such weak bonds to free Thy better self, and urge thy strength  To be what thou might'st be; Thou dost repent the past, and blame, And yet thy future is the same.
Ay, leave thy rudder to the wave,  Thy sail upon the wind, Leave them to chance, and they will be  Fit likeness of thy mind:
Unguided sail, unmaster'd prow, Are only emblems;—What art thou?
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/End Leaf

London: Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, New-Street-Square.
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Poetical Portrait No. I

POETICAL PORTRAITS.
No. I.
O no, sweet lady, not to thee  That set and chilling tone, By which the feelings on themselves  So utterly are thrown: For mine has sprung upon my lips,  Impatient to express The haunting charm of thy sweet voice  And gentlest loveliness. A very fairy queen thou art, Whose only spells are on the heart.
The garden it has many a flower,  But only one for thee— The early graced of Grecian song,  The fragrant myrtle tree; For it doth speak of happy love,  The delicate, the true. If its pearl buds are fair like thee,  They seem as fragile too; Likeness, not omens, for love's power Will watch his own most precious flower.
Thou art not of that wilder race  Upon the mountain side, Able alike the summer sun  And winter blast to bide;
But thou art of that gentler growth,  Which asks some loving eye, To keep it in sweet guardianship,  Or it must droop and die; Requiring equal love and care, Even more delicate than fair.
I cannot paint to thee the charm  Which thou hast wrought on me; Thy laugh, so like the wild bird's song  In the first bloom-touch'd tree. You spoke of lovely Italy,  And of its thousand flowers; Your lips had caught the music breath  Amid its summer bow'rs.
And can it be a form like thine Has braved the stormy Appennine?
I'm standing now with one white rose  Where silver waters glide: I've flung that white rose on the stream,—  How light it breasts the tide! The clear waves seem as if they love  So beautiful a thing; And fondly to the scented leaves  The laughing sunbeams cling. A summer voyage—fairy freight;— And such, sweet lady, be thy fate!
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Poetical Portrait No. IV

No. IV.
His brow is pale with high and passionate thoughts, That come from heaven like lightning, and consume, E'en while they brighten; youth has lost its hopes: Those sweet and wandering birds, that make its spring So happy with their music,—these are gone: All scared by one, a vulture, that doth feed Upon the life-blood of the throbbing heart— The hope of immortality!—that hope, Whose altar is the grave, whose sacrifice Is life—bright, beautiful, and breathing life.
He stands amid the revellers with a joy, A scarcely conscious joy, in their delight; In it he has no part,—he stands alone; But the deep music haunts his dreaming ear,— But the fair forms flit o'er his dreaming eye,— And exquisite illusions fill his soul With loveliness to pour in future song.  He leant beside a casement, and the moon Shed her own stillness o'er the hectic cheek Whereon the fever of the mind had fed; His eyes have turn'd towards th' eternal stars, Drinking the light into their shadowy depths, Almost as glorious and as spiritual. The night-wind touch'd his forehead, with it ran A faint slight shudder through his wasted frame,— Alas! how little can bring down our thoughts
From their most lofty communings with heaven, To poor mortality!—that passing chill Recall'd those bitter feelings that attend Career half follow'd, and the goal unwon: He thought upon his few and unknown years, How much his power, how little it had done; And then again the pale lip was compress'd With high resolve, the dark eye flash'd with hope To snatch a laurel from the grasp of death, For the green memory of an early grave.
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Fantasies, inscribed to T. Crofton Croker, Esq.

FANTASIES,
INSCRIBED TO
T. CROFTON CROKER, Esq.
1.
I'm weary, I'm weary,—this cold world of ours; I will go dwell afar, with fairies and flowers. Farewell to the festal, the hall of the dance, Where each step is a study, a falsehold each glance; Where the vain are displaying, the vapid are yawning; Where the beauty of night, the glory of dawning, Are wasted, as Fashion, that tyrant, at will Makes war on sweet Nature, and exiles her still.
2.
I'm weary, I'm weary,—I'm off with the wind: Can I find a worse fate than the one left behind? —Fair beings of moonlight, gay dwellers in air, O show me your kingdom! O let me dwell there! I see them, I see them!—how sweet it must be To sleep in yon lily!—is there room in't for me? I have flung my clay fetters; and now I but wear A shadowy seeming, a likeness of air.
3.
Go harness my chariot, the leaf of an oak; A butterfly stud, and a tendril my yoke. Go swing me a hammock, the poles mignonette; I'll rock with its scent in the gossamer net.
Go fetch me a courser: yon reed is but slight, Yet far is the distance 'twill bear me to-night. I must have a throne,—ay, yon mushroom may stay, It has sprung in a night, 'twill be gather'd next day: And fit is such throne for my brief fairy reign; For, alas! I'm but dreaming, and dreams are but vain.
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/New Year’s Eve

NEW YEAR’S EVE.
There is no change upon the air,  No record in the sky; No pall-like storm comes forth to shrowd  The year about to die.
A few light clouds are on the heaven,  A few far stars are bright; And the pale moon shines as she shines  On many a common night.
Ah, not in heaven, but upon earth,  Are signs of change exprest; The closing year has left its mark  On human brow and breast.
How much goes with it to the grave  Of life's most precious things! Methinks each year dies on a pyre,  Like the Assyrian kings.
Affections, friendships, confidence,—  There's not a year hath died But all these treasures of the heart  Lie with it side by side.
The wheels of time work heavily;  We marvel day by day To see how from the chain of life  The gilding wears away.
Sad the mere change of fortune's chance,  And sad the friend unkind; But what has sadness like the change  That in ourselves we find?
I've wept my castle in the dust,  Wept o'er an alter'd brow; 'Tis far worse murmuring o'er those tears,  "Would I could weep them now!"
Oh, for mine early confidence,  Which like that graceful tree Bent cordial, as if each approach  Could but in kindness be!
Then was the time the fairy Hope  My future fortune told, Or Youth, the alchemist, that turn'd  Whate'er he touch'd to gold.
But Hope's sweet words can never be  What they have been of yore: I am grown wiser, and believe  In fairy tales no more.
And Youth has spent his wealth, and bought  The knowledge he would fain Change for forgetfulness, and live  His dreaming life again.
I'm weary, weary: day-dreams, years,  I've seen alike depart, And sullen Care and Discontent  Hang brooding o'er my heart.
Another year, another year,—  Alas! and must it be That Time's most dark and weary wheel  Must turn again for me?
In vain I seek from out the past  Some cherish'd wreck to save; Affection, feeling, hope, are dead,—  My heart is its own grave!
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Poetical Portrait No. II

No. II.
Ah! little do those features wear The shade of grief, the soil of care; The hair is parted o'er a brow Open and white as mountain snow, And thence descends in many a ring, With sun and summer glistening. Yet something on that brow has wrought A moment's cast of passing thought; Musing of gentle dreams, like those Which tint the slumbers of the rose: Not love,—love is not yet with thee,— But just a glimpse what love may be: A memory of some last night's sigh, When flitting blush and drooping eye
Answer'd some youthful cavalier, Whose words sank pleasant on thine ear, To stir, but not to fill the heart;— Dreaming of such, fair girl, thou art.—  Thou blessed season of our spring, When hopes are angels on the wing; Bound upwards to their heavenly shore, Alas! to visit earth no more. Then step and laugh alike are light, When, like a summer morning bright, Our spirits in their mirth are such, As turn to gold whate'er they touch. The past! 'tis nothing,—childhood's day Has roll'd too recently away, For youth to shed those mournful tears That fill the eye in older years,
When Care looks back on that bright leaf Of ready smiles and short-lived grief. The future!—'tis the promised land, To which Hope points with prophet hand, Telling us fairy tales of flowers That only change for fruit—and ours. Though false, though fleeting, and though vain, Thou blessed time I say again.—  Glad being, with thy downcast eyes, And visionary look that lies Beneath their shadow, thou shalt share A world, where all my treasures are— My lute's sweet empire, fill'd with all That will obey my spirit's call; A world lit up by fancy's sun! Ah! little like our actual one.
# The Three Advices/A Tavern Incident

A TAVERN INCIDENT.
A traveller domiciling at an American hotel, exclaimed one morning to the waiter, “What are you about, you black rascal, you have roused me twice from my sleep by telling me breakfast is ready, and now you are attemping to strip-off the bed-clothes: what do you mean?” “Why,” replied Pompey, “If you isn’t goin’ to ​git up, I must hab de sheet any how, ‘cause dey’r waitin’ for de table clof.”
# The Three Advices/Cardinal Wolsey

CARDINAL WOLSEY
An extravagant young nobleman having sold a manor which contained one hundred tenements, came ruffling into court in a new suit, saying, “Am not I a mighty man to bear an hundred houses on my back?” Cardinal Wolsey hearing this, said, “You might have employed the money better in paying your debts.” “Indeed, my lord,” said the other, “you say well, for my father owed your father three half-pence for a calf’s head, here is two-pence for it.”
# The Three Advices/Sound for Smell

SOUND FOR SMELL.
A poor man went into a cook’s shop, in Paris, and remained for a considerable time, inhaling the smell of the meat. When about to depart, the cook, being disappointed of the money, seized him and demanded payment; the other refused, and it was at last agreed that the matter should be submitted to the decision of the first person who went by; this chanced to be an idiot, who gave the following judgment;—that the poor man should put his money betwixt two empty plates and so jingle it at the cook’s ear, by which the man having fed on the smell of the meat, with the sound of the man’s money.
# The Three Advices/The Laird of Garscadden

ANECDOTES.
THE LAIRD OF GARSCADDEN.
Garscadden, and another country squire, happened one day, after a keen day’s sport, to visit rather unexpectedly the residence of a Water-of-Endrick husbandman. The sportsmen were very cordially received by the family, and among other apologies the landlord regretted that dinner was over, as he had just finished some excellent chickens. “Mak nae apologies, George,” said Garscad, “I weel believe what you say, for I see the feathers (alluding to the marks of some pease brose( still on your breast.
​A simple Highland girl, on her way home for the north, called the other day, as she passed by Crieff, upon an old master, with whom she had formerly served. Being kindly invited by him to share in the family dinner, and the usual ceremony of asking a blessing having been gone through, the poor girl, anxious to compliment, as she conceived, her ancient host, exclaimed, “Ah, master, ye maun hae a grand memory, for that’s the grace ye had when I was wi’ you seven years ago.”
# The Three Advices/A Retort

A RETORT.
The late Alexander Bilsland, High Street, was a man of some wit, and very good at a retort; he was very ​irritable and easily offended. One day a poor student offended him and got some crusty answer, when the dominie said, “Yere unco short the day, Saunders.” “Od man,” said the other, “Yere no sae lang yeresel’.”
# The Three Advices/The Bellman

THE BELLMAN.
The Bellman of Kirriemuir read a written Advertisement in the midst of the multitude on a Fair day, as follows: “Notish, all persons driving their cattle through the lands of Logie, to or from the market, will be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of law.” And immediately added, by way of sedative to the natives, “Ye needna mind a’ this, lads, its only a haver o’ the grieve’s.”
# The Three Advices/The Emperor Severus

THE EMPEROR SEVERUS.
The Emperor Severus being confined with gout at York, one of his courtiers told him that the world did admire how he could govern so many nations, separated so far from one another, and he so much troubled with that disease. To which the Emperor replied, Sir, I rule the empire with my head, and not with my feet; ​with my temples, and not with my toes.
# The Three Advices/Important Promotion

IMPORTANT PROMOTION.
A old woman who had a son in a regiment of Fencibles, then serving in Ireland, received a letter from the young man informing her that he had been promoted, and ​now held the rank of corporal. The old woman was much pleased with her son’s good fortune, and sallied forth to communicate the good news to her friends. She called on a neighbour woman and told her that Jamie had been made an Admiral. “An admiral!” said Janet, “I thought your son was in the army, an Admiral sails on the sea,” “At weel,” said the mother, “I’m no vera sure o’ the name but it’s either an admiral a general or a corporal; it’s some o’ the rals at ony rate.”
# The Three Advices/Scarcity of Asses

SCARCITY OF ASSES,
The rev. Mr. Thom of Govan, riding home from Paisley, on a particular occasion, came up with two gentlemen, heritors of his parish, who had lately been made justices of the peace. They, seeing him well mounted, as usual, were determined to pass a joke on him, and accosted him thus:—“Well, Mr. Thom, you are very unlike your Master; for he was content to ride on an ass.” “An ass!” says Mr. Thom, “there’s no sic a beast to be gotten now-a-days.” “Ay, how’s that?” said they. “Because,” replied Mr. Thom, “they now make them a’ justices of the peace!”
# The Wanderer (Burney)/Volume 2

THE
WANDERER;
OR,
FEMALE DIFFICULTIES.
BY
THE AUTHOR OF
EVELINA; CECILIA; and CAMILLA.
IN FIVE VOLUMES. VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, PATERNOSTER–ROW.
1814.
Book III.
* Chapter XX.
* Chapter XXI.
* Chapter XXII.
* Chapter XXIII.
* Chapter XXIV.
* Chapter XXV.
* Chapter XXVI.
* Chapter XXVII.
* Chapter XXVIII.
Book IV.
* Chapter XXIX.
* Chapter XXX.
* Chapter XXXI.
* Chapter XXXII.
* Chapter XXXIII.
* Chapter XXXIV.
* Chapter XXXV.
* Chapter XXXVI.
* Chapter XXXVII.
* Chapter XXXVIII.
* Chapter XXXIX.
* Chapter XL.
# The River

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The River."
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* The River, a poem by Matthew Arnold
* The River, a short story by August W. Derleth
* The River, a poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
* The River, a poem by Richard Watson Gilder
* The River, novel by Eden Phillpotts
* The River, a poem by John Cowper Powys
* The River, a poem by Charles Hamilton Sorley
* The River, a poem by Antonín Sova
* The River, a poem by Sara Teasdale
# The River (Teasdale)

* Teasdale, Sara (1915), "The River" in Rivers to the Sea.
* Teasdale, Sara (1917), "The River" in Love Songs.
# The Rivers and the Sea

Perry index 412
* "The Rivers and the Sea", translated by George Fyler Townsend, in Three Hundred Æsop's Fables (1867)
* "The Rivers and the Sea", translated by Vernon Stanley Jones, in Æsop's fables: A New Translation (1912)
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 Riverside song book

Layout 2
The Riverside Literature Series
THE RIVERSIDE SONG BOOK
CONTAINING CLASSIC AMERICAN POEMS SET TO STANDARD MUSIC
SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY
W. M. LAWRENCE
PRINCIPAL OF THE MARK SHERIDAN SCHOOL, CHICAGO
AND
O. BLACKMAN
SUPERVISOR OF VOCAL MUSIC IN THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS OF CHICAGO
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
BOSTON: 4 PARK STREET; NEW YORK: 11 EAST 17TH STREET
CHICAGO: 28 LAKESIDE BUILDING
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
Copyright, 1893,
By W. M. LAWRENCE and O. BLACKMAN.
All rights reserved.
The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.
PREFACE.
This collection has been prepared mainly for use in schools. Believing that in the preparation of school song books too little attention has been paid to the character of the words sung, we have made our selections for the most part from the writings of American poets of high standing. With these before us, we have sought for music of an equally high order with which to wed the words, and where we have introduced old and familiar songs, we have edited the music with care. In nearly all the part songs, the melody can be sung alone with good effect. We desire to acknowledge our special indebtedness to Professor C. E. R. Mueller for valuable aid rendered in the work of musical revision.
The several indexes with which the book is provided record the contents, and show the origin of the words and the music. By means of the Topical Index, the teacher may readily discover the adaptability of the book to those special occasions, like national holidays and birthday celebrations, which form an important element in school life.
We submit the result of our work to teachers and superintendents, with the hope that it may strengthen in our schools that spirit of loyalty to American ideals already nobly expressed in American poetry.
W. M. LAWRENCE. O. BLACKMAN.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Acknowledgment is due to the following publishers and authors for permission to use the poems contained in this volume, controlled or written by them:—
Messrs. D. Appleton & Co. W. C. Bryant.
Messrs. Charles Scribner’s Sons Sidney Lanier, R. H. Stoddard.
The Century Co. R. W. Gilder.
J. B. Lippincott Co. T. Buchanan Read.
Cassell Publishing Co. J. Boyle O’Reilly.
Eugene Field.
Joaquin Miller.
The music of the following songs is used by arrangement with The Oliver Ditson Co.: Keller’s American Hymn (Angel of Peace), Foster’s Old Folks at Home (Swanee River), Kittredge’s Tenting on the Old Camp-Ground, Webster’s Don’t be sorrowful, Darling, Emerson’s Reaper and the Flowers, Pike’s Home Again, Mason’s Nearer, my God, to Thee, Woodbury’s Stars of the Summer Night, and Paine’s Centennial Hymn.
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