OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/Two Songs

TWO SONGS
A bee that was searching for sweets one day Through the gate of a rose garden happened to stray. In the heart of a rose he hid away, And forgot in his bliss the light of day, As sipping his honey he buzzed in song; Though day was waning, he lingered long,  For the rose was sweet, so sweet.
A robin sits pluming his ruddy breast, And a madrigal sings to his love in her nest: "Oh, the skies they are blue, the fields are green, And the birds in your nest will soon be seen!" She hangs on his words with a thrill of love, And chirps to him as he sits above  For the song is sweet, so sweet.
A maiden was out on a summer's day With the winds and the waves and the flowers at play; And she met with a youth of gentle air, With the light of the sunshine on his hair. Together they wandered the flowers among; They loved, and loving they lingered long,  For to love is sweet, so sweet.
Bird of my lady's bower,  Sing her a song; Tell her that every hour,  All the day long, Thoughts of her come to me,  Filling my brain With the warm ecstasy  Of love's refrain.
Little bird! happy bird!  Being so near, Where e'en her slightest word  Thou mayest hear, Seeing her glancing eyes,  Sheen of her hair, Thou art in paradise,—  Would I were there.
I am so far away,  Thou art so near; Plead with her, birdling gay, Plead with my dear. Rich be thy recompense,  Fine be thy fee, If through thine eloquence  She hearken me.
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 Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/Unexpressed

UNEXPRESSED
Deep in my heart that aches with the repression,  And strives with plenitude of bitter pain, There lives a thought that clamors for expression,  And spends its undelivered force in vain.
What boots it that some other may have thought it?  The right of thoughts' expression is divine; The price of pain I pay for it has bought it,  I care not who lays claim to it—'t is mine!
And yet not mine until it be delivered;  The manner of its birth shall prove the test. Alas, alas, my rock of pride is shivered—  I beat my brow—the thought still unexpressed.
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 Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/Twell de Night Is Pas'

TWELL DE NIGHT IS PAS
All de night long twell de moon goes down,  Lovin' I set at huh feet, Den fu' de long jou'ney back f'om de town,  Ha'd, but de dreams mek it sweet.
All de night long twell de break of de day,  Dreamin' agin in my sleep, Mandy comes drivin' my sorrers away,  Axin' me, "Wha' fu' you weep?"
All de day long twell de sun goes down,  Smilin', I ben' to my hoe, Fu' dough de weddah git nasty an' frown,  One place I know I kin go.
All my life long twell de night has pas'  Let de wo'k come ez it will, So dat I fin' you, my honey, at las',  Somewhaih des ovah de hill.
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 Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/Twilight

TWILIGHT 'Twixt a smile and a tear,  'Twixt a song and a sigh, 'Twixt the day and the dark,  When the night draweth nigh.
Ah, sunshine may fade  From the heavens above, No twilight have we  To the day of our love.
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 Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/Trouble In De Kitchen

TROUBLE IN DE KITCHEN
Dey was oncet a awful quoil 'twixt de skillet an' de pot; De pot was des a-bilin' an' de skillet sho' was hot. Dey slurred each othah's colah an' dey called each othah names, Wile de coal-oil can des gu-gled, po'in oil erpon de flames.
De pot, hit called de skillet des a flat, disfiggered t'ing, An' de skillet 'plied dat all de pot could do was set an' sing, An' he 'lowed dat dey was 'lusions dat he wouldn't stoop to mek 'Case he reckernize his juty, an' he had too much at steak.
Well, at dis de pot biled ovah, case his tempah gittin' highah, An' de skillet got to sputterin', den de fat was in de fiah. Mistah flan lay daih smokin' an' a-t'inkin' to hisse'f, Wile de peppah-box us nudgin' of de gingah on de she'f.
Den dey all des lef hit to 'im, 'bout de trouble an' de talk; An' howevah he decided, w'y dey bofe 'u'd walk de chalk; But de fiah uz so 'sgusted how dey quoil an' dey shout Dat he cooled 'em off, I reckon, w'en he puffed an' des went out.
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 Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/Two Little Boots

TWO LITTLE BOOTS
Two little boots all rough an' wo',  Two little boots! Law, I 's kissed 'em times befo',  Dese little boots! Seems de toes a-peepin' thoo Dis hyeah hole an' sayin' "Boo!" Evah time dey looks at you—  Dese little boots.
Membah de time he put 'em on,  Dese little boots; Riz an' called fu' 'em by dawn,  Dese little boots; Den he tromped de livelong day, Laffin' in his happy way, Evaht'ing he had to say,  "My little boots!"
Kickin' de san' de whole day long,  Dem little boots; Good de cobblah made 'em strong,  Dem little boots! Rocks was fu' dat baby's use, I'on had to stan' abuse W'en you tu'ned dese champeens loose,  Dese little boots!
Ust to make de ol' cat cry,  Dese little boots; Den you walked it mighty high,  Proud little boots! Ahms akimbo, stan'in' wide, Eyes a-sayin' "Dis is pride!" Den de manny-baby stride!  You little boots.
Somehow, you don' seem so gay,  Po' little boots, Sence yo' ownah went erway,  Po' little boots! Yo' bright tops don' look so red, Dese brass tips is dull an' dead; "Goo'-by," whut de baby said;  Deah little boots!
Ain't you kin' o' sad yo'se'f,  You little boots? Dis is all his mammy 's lef',  Two little boots. Sence huh baby gone an' died. Heav'n itse'f hit seem to hide Des a little bit inside  Two little boots.
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 Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XC Christina

XC
To Sister Christine
1628 INDIANA AVE.
CHICAGO, ILL.
[April 6, 1896]
DEAR CHRISTINA,
[Line excised.] reply as soon as possible.
I am going forward to New York on Thursday [April 9] and [will] start for England on the 15th of April.
Goodby and love to you all — to Mrs. Funkey [Funke], to Mrs. Phelps and all the rest of our friends.
In this life we meet and part again and again; but the mind is omnipresent and can be, hear, and feel anywhere.
Yours with love and blessings,
VIVEKANANDA
P.S. Give Kripananda and Miss [Martha] Hamilton my love and blessings when you meet them next.
V.
[Written in the margin:] I will go to New York next Friday [April 10].
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XIII Mother

XIII
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
DETROIT
16 March 1894
DEAR MOTHER,
Since my last, there has been nothing of interest here. Except that Mr. Palmer is a very hearty, jolly, good old man and very rich. He has been uniformly kind to me. Tomorrow I go back to Mrs. Bagley's because I am afraid she is rather uneasy at my long stay here. I am shrewd enough to know that in every country in general, and America in particular, "she" is the real operator at the nose string.
I am going to lecture here on Monday[6]* and in two places near the town on Tuesday and Wednesday.[7]* I do not remember the lady you refer me to,[8]* and she is in Lynn; what is Lynn, where on the globe its position is — I do not know.[9]* I want to go to Boston. What good would it do me by stopping at Lynn? Kindly give me a more particular idea. Nor could I read the name of the lady at whose house you say I met the lady. However, I am in no way very anxious. I am taking life very easy in my natural way. I have no particular wish to go anywhere, Boston or no Boston. I am just in a nice come-what-may mood. Something should turn up, bad or good. I have enough now to pay my passage back and a little sight-seeing to boot. As to my plans of work, I am fully convinced that at the rate it is progressing I will have to come back four or five times to put it in any shape.
As to informing others and doing good that way, I have failed to persuade myself that I have really anything to convey to the world. So I am very happy just now and quite at my ease. With almost nobody in this vast house and a cigar between my lips, I am dreaming just now and philosophising upon that work fever which was upon me. It is all nonsense. I am nothing, the world is nothing, the Lord alone is the only worker. We are simply tools in His hands etc., etc., etc. Have you got the Alaska information? If so, kindly send it to me c/o Mrs. Bagley.
Are you coming to the East this summer? With eternal gratitude and love,
Your son,
VIVEKANANDA.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XIV Mother

XIV
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
DETROIT
Tuesday, 27 March 1894
DEAR MOTHER,
Herewith I send two cheques of $114 and $75 to be put in the banks for me. I have endorsed them to your care.
I am going to Boston in a day or two. I have got $57 with me. They will go a long way. Something will turn up, as it always does. I do not know where I go from Boston. I have written to Mrs. [Francis W.] Breed but as yet heard nothing from her.[6]* His will be done. Not I but Thou — that is always the motto of my life.
With my eternal gratitude, love, and admiration for Mother Church and all the dignitaries,
I remain your son,
VIVEKANANDA.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XIX Mother

XIX
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
HOTEL BELLEVUE, EUROPEAN PLAN
BEACON STREET, BOSTON
11 May, 1894
DEAR MOTHER,
I have been since the 7th, lecturing here every afternoon or evening. At Mrs. Fairchild's I met the niece of Mrs. Howe. She was here today to invite me to dinner with her today. I have not seen Mr. Volkinen as yet. Of course, the pay for lecture is here the poorest, and everybody has an axe to grind. I got a long letter full of the prattles of the babies.[6]* Your city, i.e. New York, pays far better than Boston, so I am trying to go back there. But here one can get work almost every day.
I think I want some rest. I feel as if I am very much tired, and these constant journeyings to and fro have shaken my nerves a little, but hope to recoup soon. Last few days I have been suffering from cold and slight fever and lecturing for all that; hope to get rid of it in a day or two.
I have got a very nice gown at $30. The colour is not exactly that of the old one, but cardinal, with more of yellow — could not get the exact old colour even in New York.
I have not much to write, for it is the repetition of the old story: talking, talking, talking. I long to fly to Chicago and shut up my mouth and give a long rest to mouth and lungs and mind. If I am not called for in New York, I am coming soon to Chicago.
Yours obediently,
VIVEKANANDA.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XLIII Mother

XLIII
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
BALTIMORE, [MARYLAND]
3 November 1894
DEAR MOTHER,
I do not know what to say about this phonograph business. It takes six months to go to India!! and the company cannot get an inquiry in another six months!!! American express, indeed!! Well — however, they are bound to make good my money. Mother, do not lose the receipt of the express company.
I am going to New York as soon as possible.
Yours affectionately,
VIVEKANANDA
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XI Mother

XI
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
DETROIT
February 22, 1894
DEAR MOTHER
I have got the $200 for the engagements, $175 and $117 by private lectures[6]* and $100 as a present from a lady.
This sum will be sent to you tomorrow in cheques by Mrs. Bagley. Today, the banks being closed, we could not do it.
I am going tomorrow to lecture at Ada, Ohio. I do not know whether I will go to Chicago from Ada or not. However, kindly let not Slayton know anything about the rest of the money, as I am going to separate myself from him.
Yours obediently,
VIVEKANANDA.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XLII Mother

XLII
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
[WASHINGTON, D.C.
October 27, 1894 ]
DEAR MOTHER,
I received your very kind note and all the India letters just now. I will make it a point to see Mrs. Whitland [?]. I have been very kindly treated by Mrs. [Enoch] Totten.
Will you kindly order 100 photographs from Harrison, and send them over to India to Ramdayal Chakravarty, c/o Swami Ramakrishnananda, Varahanagar Math, Alambazar, Calcutta? I will pay for it when I come to Chicago.
I have nothing especial to write — except I had good treatment everywhere. How I long to give up this life of weariness and blazoning day and night.
I will go from here to New York and will come back to see you in Chicago before I start for England.
Yours etc.,
VIVEKANANDA
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XII Mother

XII
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
DETROIT,
10 March 1894.
DEAR MOTHER,
Reached Detroit safely yesterday evening.[6]* The two younger daughters were waiting for me with a carriage. So everything was all right. I hope the lecture will be a success, as one of the girls said the tickets are selling like hot cakes. Here I found a letter from Mr. Palmer awaiting me with a request that I should come over to his house and be his guest.
Could not go last night. He will come in the course of the day to take me over. As I am going over to Mr. Palmer's, I have not opened the awfully-packed bag. The very idea of repacking seems to me to be hopeless. So I could not shave this morning. However, I hope to shave during the course of the day. I am thinking of going over to Boston and New York just now, as the Michigan cities I can come and take over in summer; but the fashionables of New York and Boston will fly off. Lord will show the way.
Mrs. Bagley and all the family are heartily glad at my return and people are again coming in to see me.
The photographer here has sent me some of the pictures he made. They are positively villainous — Mrs. Bagley does not like them at all. The real fact is that between the two photos my face has become so fat and heavy — what can the poor photographers do?
Kindly send over four copies of photographs. Not yet made any arrangement with Holden. (A lecture agent at Detroit.) Everything promises to be very nice. "Ssenator Ppalmer"[7]* is a very nice gentleman and very kind to me. He has got a French chef — Lord bless his stomach! I am trying to starve and the whole world is against me!! He used to give the best dinners in all Washington! Hopeless! I am resigned!
I will write more from Mr. Palmer's house.
If the Himalayas become the inkpot, the ocean ink, if the heavenly eternal Devadaroo[8]* becomes the pen, and if the sky itself becomes paper, still I would not be able to write a drop of the debt of gratitude I owe to you and yours. Kindly convey my love to the four full notes and the four half notes of the Hale gamut.[9]*
May the blessings of the Lord be upon you and yours ever and ever.
Ever yours in grateful affection,
VIVEKANANDA.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 9/Letters - Fifth Series/XLIV Mother

XXXIV
To Mrs. G. W. Hale
NEW YORK
18 November 1894
DEAR MOTHER
I have been very late this time in writing you as Sister Mary[6]* has already written to you, no doubt, about me.
The clothes have all reached safe, only I will send over some of the summer and other clothes as it will be impossible to carry the burden all along with me.
The certainty about going to Europe this December has gone; so I am uncertain when I go.
Sister Mary has improved a great deal from what I saw her last. She lives with a number of fox-hunting squires and is quite happy. I hope she will marry one of those fellows with long pockets. I am going again to see her tomorrow at Mrs. Spalding's — I was there last afternoon. I will be in N.Y. this month; then I go to Boston and perhaps will be there all through December. When I was sick in Boston last spring, I went over to Chicago, and not to Detroit as Mrs. Bagley expected. So this time I am going to Detroit first and then to Chicago, if possible. Else I altogether give up the plan of going to the West soon.
There is more chance of working my plans out in the East than in the West, as it now appears.
I have got news of the phonograph — it has reached safe, and the Râjâ[7]* wrote to me a very nice letter on that. I have a lot of addresses and other nonsense from India. I have written home to them not to send any more newspapers. My love to the babies at home and I am going to visit the baby[8]* abroad.
Mrs. Guernsey has been at death's door. She is now recovering slowly. I have not seen her yet. She is not strong enough to see anybody. Hope she will soon be strong.
My love to Father Pope and everyone.
Your ever affectionate son,
VIVEKANANDA
# The Book of Scottish Song/O, are ye sleeping, Maggie

O, are ye sleeping, Maggie.
[Robert Tannahill.—Air, "Sleepy Maggie."
O, are ye sleepin', Maggie? O, are ye sleepin', Maggie? Let me in, for loud the linn Is roarin' o'er the warlock craigie! ​Mirk and rainy is the night; No a stam in a' the carie; Lightnings gleam athwart the lift, And winds drive on wi' winter's fury.
Fearfu' soughs the boor-tree bank; The rifted wood roars wild and drearie; Loud the iron yett does clank; And cry o' howlets maks me eerie.
Aboon my breath I daurna speak, For fear I raise your waukrife daddy; Cauld's the blast upon my cheek; O rise, rise, my bonnie lady!
She oped the door; she let him in; He cuist aside his dreepin' plaidie; Blaw your warst, ye wind and rain, Since, Maggie, now I'm in beside ye!
Now, since ye're waukin', Maggie, Now, since ye're waukin', Maggie, What care I for howlet's cry, For boor-tree bank and warlock craigie?
# The Book of Scottish Song/O, as I was kist

O, as I was kist.
[This fragment is given in Herd's collection, but is of older date. In Johnson's Museum, it is said to have been composed on an amour of John Duke of Argyle. This John was Jeanie Deans's duke; and as he is said to have been the author of the song beginning "Argyle is my name," probably he wrote this ditty also. From the line in the last verse,
"Up the Gallowgate, down the Green,"
one might suppose the scene of the song to belong to Glasgow, but their are other localities (Aberdeen for example,) which can boast of "Gallowgates" and "Greens." The tune, "O, as I was kist yestreen," was originally called "Lumps o' Pudding," which name was transferred to another old air, adopted by Gay for the finale in his "Beggar's Opera," "Thus I stand like a Turk," &c. It is well known that one object Gay had in "The Beggar's Opera" was to supplant the Italian opera, by the introduction of good old English and Scottish tunes. An Italian speaking of this, said, with great indignation and scorn, "Saire, this dam Signor Gay try to pelt my countrymen out of England with 'Lumps of Pudding.'"]
O, as I was kist yestreen! O, as I was kist yestreen! I'll never forget till the day that I dee,
Sae mony braw kisses his grace ga'e me!
My father was sleeping, my mother was out, And I was my lane, and in cam' the duke: I'll never forget till the day that I dee, Sae mony braw kisses his grace ga'e me.
Kist yestreen, kist yestreen, Up the Gallowgate, down the Green: I'll never forget till the day that I dee,
Sae mony braw kisses his grace ga'e me.
# The Book of Scottish Song/O'er hill and dale roamin'

O'er hill and dale roamin'.
O'er hill and dale roamin', at day dawn or gloamin', At kirk, or at market, or dance on the green, Now Rosa's beauty praisin', now sad and silent gazin', Now sighin' and vowin', young Donald was seen. With frowns she met his glances, with sneers his fond advances, She laugh'd when he spak' with the tear in his e'e, And sprung away flauntin', some idle chorus chauntin', Whene'er he sigh'd "Rosa! thou'rt dear, dear to me."
The youth tir'd with doubtin', and teaz'd by her floutin', Grew proud, and resented her scorning ere long, No more fond vows breathing—for others wild flowers wreathing, He mark'd not her beauty, nor thrill'd at her song. Though her neck was the whitest, her blue eyes the brightest, He vaunted of maiden's more lovely than she; Whose eyes tender languish would charm all his anguish, And sigh'd no more "Rosa, thou'rt dear, dear to me."
Proud hearts will be changing, soon Rosa was ranging, Pale, waesome, and weeping, and ghaist-hko alane, Through scenes that once delighted, though now lone and blighted, Unblest by the vows she might ne'er hear again. But, ah! love's not thrown off, as spring-flowers are blown off, Her truant was waitin' beside the hawthorn tree; He threw his arms around her, and oh! so kind he found her, They murmur'd together, "Thou'rt dear, dear to me."
# The Book of Scottish Song/O'er the mountain

O’er the mountain.
O'er the mountain, o'er the lea, With my kilt and Saxon plaid, And my tartan bonnet wee, Will I seek my Highland lad. O'er the mountain, &c.
Though the heather be my bed, Brightly pearl'd with silvery dew, There's a tear more bright I'll shed, Oh! my Highland lad, for you. O'er the mountain, &c.
Far awa' from love and home, O'er the heath with blossom clad; While the night-bird sings I'll roam, Oh! for thee, my Highland lad. Though the heather, &c. O'er the mountain, &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/O'er the muir 2

O’er the muir.
[This is another set of "O'er the muir amang the heather," and was written by Stewart Lewis, a native of Ecclefechan, and by trade a tailor, who died in 1818, at an advanced age. He published a small volume of poems, in which, if we mistake not, he claims for his song priority of date to Jean Glover's. For many years before his death, he was a wanderer over the country, partly supporting himself by the sale of his poems, but mainly dependent on the casual assistance of the benevolent.]
Ae morn of May, when fields were gay, Serene and charming was the weather, I chanc'd to roam some miles frae home, Far o'er yon muir, amang the heather. O'er the muir amang the heather, O'er the muir amang the heather, How healthsome 'tis to range the muirs, And brush the dew from vernal heather.
I walk'd along and humm'd a song, My heart was light as ony feather, And soon did pass a lovely lass, Was wading barefoot thro' the heather! O'er the muir amang the heather, O'er the muir amang the heather, The bonniest lass that e'er I saw, I met ae morn amang the heather.
Her eyes divine, mair bright did shine, Than the most clear unclouded aether; A fairer form did ne'er adorn A brighter scene than blooming heather. O'er the muir amang the heather, O'er the muir amang the heather, There's ne'er a lass in Scotia's isle, Can vie with her amang the heather.
I said, "Dear maid, be not afraid; Pray, sit you down, let's talk together; For, O! my fair, I vow and swear, You've stole my heart amang the heather." O'er the muir amang the heather, O'er the muir amang the heather, Ye swains, beware of yonder muir, You'll lose your hearts amang the heather.
She answer'd me, right modestly, "I go, kind Sir, to seek my father, Whose fleecy charge, he tends at large, On yon green hills, beyond the heather." O'er the muir amang the heather, O'er the muir amang the heather. Were I a king, thou shou'dst be mine, Dear blooming maid amang the heather.
Away she flew out of my view, Her home or name I ne'er could gather, But aye sin' syne I sigh and pine For that sweet lass amang the heather. O'er the muir amang the heather, O'er the muir amang the heather, While vital heat glows in my heart, I'll love the lass amang the heather.