OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Riverside song book/Tenting on the Old Camp-Ground

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TENTING ON THE OLD CAMP-GROUND.
Walter Kittredge. Walter Kittredge
Tenderly.
1. We're tent - ing to - night on the old Camp - ground;
2. We're tent - ing to - night on the old Camp - ground,
3. We are tired of war on the old Camp - ground;
4. We've been fight - ing to - day on the old Camp - ground;
Give us a song to cheer Our wea - ry hearts, a
Think - ing of days gone by, Of the loved ones at home that
Man - y are dead and gone Of the brave and true who've
Man - y are ly - ing near: Some are dead, and
song of home, And friends we love so dear,
gave us the hand. And the tear that said "good -bye!"
left their homes, Oth - ers been wound-ed long.
Some are dying, Man-y the fall - ing tear.
Chorus.
Man - y are the hearts that are wea - ry to - night,
Wish- ing for the war to cease; Man - y are the hearts
look - ing for the right, To see the dawn of peace.
Vs. 1.2.3. Tenting to-night, tent-ing to-night, Tent-ing on the old Camp-ground.
Vs. 4. Dy-ing to-night, dy - ing to-night, Dy - ing on the old Camp-ground.
# The Riverside song book/Speed Away

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SPEED AWAY!
Isaac B. Woodbury. Isaac B. Woodbury.
Tenderly.
1. Speed a - way! speed a - way! on thine er - rand of light! There's a
2. And oh! wilt thou tell her, blest bird on the wing, That her
3. Go, bird of the sil - ver wing! fet - ter - less now; Stoop
young heart a - wait-ing thy com-ing to - night; She will fon-dle thee
moth-er hath ev - er a sad song to sing; That she standeth a -
not thy bright pin - ions on yon mountain's brow; But hie thee a -
close, she will ask for the lov'd. Who pine up - on earth since the
lone, in the still qui-et night, And her fond heart goes forth for the
way, o'er rock, riv - er and glen, And find our young "Day Star," ere
"Day Star" has roved, She will ask if we miss her, so long is her
be - ing of light, Who had slept in her bo - som, —but who would not
night close a - gain; Up, on - ward! let noth - ing thy mis - sion de -
stay, Speed a - way! Speed a - way! Speed a - way!
stay?
lay.
# The Riverside song book/Song of the Negro Boatman

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SONG OF THE NEGRO BOATMAN.
John Greenleaf Whittier. Wenzel Müller.
Allegretto.
1. O, praise an' tanks I de Lord He come To set de peo - ple
2. Ole mas - sa on he trab- bels gone; He leaf de land be -
3. We pray de Lord: He gib us signs Dat someday we be
We know de prom - ise neb- ber fail, An' neb - ber lie de
free; An' mas - sa tink it day ob doom. An'
hind: De Lord's breff blow him fur - der on. Like
free; De norf - wind tell it to de pines, De
word; So like de 'pos - tles in de jail, We
we ob ju - bi - lee. De Lord dat heap de
corn - shuck in de wind. We own de hoe, we
wild - duck to the sea; We tink it when de
wait - ed for de Lord: An' now He o - pen ​ Red Sea waves He jus' as 'trong as den: He
own de plough, We own de hands dat hold; We
church bell ring, We dream it in de dream; De
eb - 'ry door. An' trow a - way de key; He
say de word: We las' night slaves, To- day de Lord's free men.
sell de pig. We sell de cow. But neb - ber chile be sold.
rice-bird mean it when he sing, De ea - gle when he scream,
tink we lub Him so be - fore. We lub Him bet - ter free.
Chorus for each verse.
De yam will grow, de cot - ton blow, We'll hab de rice an' corn;
O neb-ber you fear, if neb-ber you hear De dri- ver blow his horn!
# The Riverside song book/Summer Studies

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SUMMER STUDIES.
Harriet Beecher Stowe. William H. Hutchinson.
Moderato. dim.
1. Cease to think, but be con-tent to be; Swing safe at an-
2. Call not such hours a i - dle waste of time,—Land that lies fal -
chor in fair Nature's bay , Rea - son no more, but o'er thy qui- et
low gains a quiet power; It treas-ures, from the brood-ing of God's
soul Let God's sweet teach-ings rip - ple their soft way. Soar with the
wings, Strength to un - fold the fu - ture tree and flower. And when the
birds, and flut-ter with the leaf; Dance with the seed - ed
grass in fring - y play; Sail with the cloud, wave with the
long - er charm thy sight, The treas - ured rich - es of those
dream - ing pine, And float with Na - ture all the live - long day.
thought-ful hours Shall make thy win - try mus- ings warm and bright.
# The Riverside song book/She came and went

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SHE CAME AND WENT.
James Russell Lowell. German Air.
Tenderly. Andante.
1. As a twig trem-bles, which a bird lights on to sing, then
2. As clasps a lake, by gusts un - riven, The blue dome's measure-
3. An an - gel stood and met my gaze, Thro' the low door-way
4. O, when the room grows slow - ly dim, And life's last oil is
cres.
leaves un - bent, So is my mem - 'ry thrill'd and stirred; I
less con - tent, So my soul held that mo - ment's heaven; I
of my tent; The tent is struck, the vi - sion stays; I
near - ly spent, One gush of light these eyes will brim. On
on - ly know she came and went, So is my mem - 'ry
on - ly know she came and went, So my soul held that
on - ly know she came and went. The tent is struck, the
ly to think she came and went. One gush of light these
thrilled and stirred; I on - ly know she came and went.
mo - ment's heav'n; I on - ly know she came and went.
vi - sion stays; I on - ly know she came and went.
eyes will brim, On - ly to know she came and went.
# The Riverside song book/The Bridge

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THE BRIDGE.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. M. Lindsay.
Andante con espressione.
1. I stood on the bridge at mid - night, As the
2. How oft - en, O, how oft - en, In the
3. Tor my heart was hot and rest - less, And my
4. Yet when- ev - er I cross the riv - er On its
clocks were strik - ing the hour, And the
days that had gone by, I had
life was full of care, And the
bridge with wood - en piers, Like the
moon rose o’ the cit - y, Be -
stood on that bridge at mid - night And
bur - den laid up - on me Seemed
o - dor of brine from the o - cean Comes the
​ hind the dark church tower. And
grazed on that wave and sky! How
great - er than I could bear. But
thought of oth - er years. And for-
like . . those wa - ters rush - ing A -
oft - en, O, how oft - en, I had
now it has fall - en from me, It is
ev - er and for - ev - er, As
mong the wood - en pier, A
wished that the ebb - ing tide Would
bur - ied in - the sea; And
long as the riv - er flows, As
flood . . of thoughts came o’er - me .. That
bear me a - way on its bos - om O’er the
on - ly the sor - row of oth - ers Thrown its
long as the heart has pas - sions, As
D.C.
filled my eyes . . . with tears. . . . . .
o - cean wild . . . and wide! . . . . .
shad - ow o - ver me . . . . .
long as life . . . has
D.C.
Verse 4.
woes; The moon and its bro - ken re -
Verse 4.
flec - tion And its shad - ows shall ap -
pear. As the symbol of love in
heav - en. And its wav - ’ring im - age here.
# The Riverside song book/Softly now the Light of Day

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SOFTLY NOW THE LIGHT OF DAY.
George Washington Doane. Friedrich Wilhelm Kücken.
1. Soft - ly now the light of day Fades up - on our sight a -
2. Soon for us the light of day Shall for - ev - er pass a -
way; Free from care, from la - bor free, Lord we
way; Then from sin and la - bor free, Take us,
would com - mune with Thee, Lord, we would com- mune with Thee.
Lord, to dwell with Thee, Take us, Lord, to dwell with Thee.
# The Riverside song book/Stars of the Summer Night

From the play The Spanish Student
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STARS OF THE SUMMER NIGHT.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Isaac B. Woodbury.
Slow and gentle
1. Stars of the sum - mer night! Far in yon az - ure deeps,
2. Moon of the sum - mer night! Far down yon west-ern steeps,
3. Wind of the sum - mer night! Where yon - der wood-bine creeps,
4. Dreams of the sum - mer night! Tell her, her lov - er keeps
Hide, hide your gold - en light! She sleeps! my la - dy sleeps!
Sink, sink in sil - ver light! She sleeps! my la - dy sleeps!
Fold, fold your pin - ions light! She sleeps! my la - dy sleeps!
Watch while in slum - bers light She sleeps! my la - dy sleeps!
She sleeps! She sleeps! my la - dy sleeps!
She sleeps! She sleeps! my la - dy sleeps!
She sleeps! She sleeps! my la - dy sleeps!
She sleeps! She sleeps! my la - dy sleeps!
# The Riverside song book/Swanee River

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SWANEE RIVER.
Stephen Collins Foster. Stephen Collins Foster.
mp
1. Way down up - on the Swa - nee rib - ber, Far, far a - way,
All up and down de whole cre a - tion, Sad - ly I roam,
2. All round de lit - tie farm I wan-dered When I was young,
When I was play- ing with my brudder, Hap - py was I,
3. One lit - tie hut a - mong de bush-es, One dat I love,
When shall I hear de bees a - hum-ming All round de comb!
Dere's wha' my heart is turn-ing eb - er, Dere's wha' de old folks stay.
Still long-ing for de old plan-ta - tion. And for de old folks at home.
Den man-y hap- py days I squan-der'd Man-y de songs I sung
Oh! take me to my kind old mud-der, Dere let me live and die.
Still sad - ly to my mem-'ry rush-es, No mat-ter where I rove.
When shall I hear de ban- jo tum -ming Down in my good old home?
Chorus.
All de world am sad and drea - ry, Eb - 'ry where I roam
Oh ! dar-kies, how my heart grows wea-ry, Far from de old folks at home.
# The Riverside song book/Sail on O Ship of State

Excerpted from The Building of the Ship
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SAIL ON, O SHIP OF STATE!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. German Air.
1. Sail on, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, sail
2. We know what Mas - ter laid thy keel. Sail on, sail
3. Fear not each sud - den sound and shock. Sail on, sail
4. Sail on, sail on. O Ship of State! Sail on, sail
on! Sail on, O Un - ion strong and
on ! What Work - man wrought thy ribs of
on I 'Tis of the wave and not the
on! Sail on, O Un - ion strong and
great. Sail on, sail on! Hu - man - i - ty with
steel, Sail on, sail on! Who made each mast, and
rock; Sail on, sail on! 'Tis but the flap - ping
great, Sail on, sail on! Sail on, nor fear to
all its fears, With all the hopes of fu - ture years, Is
sail, and rope, What an - vils rang, what ham-mers beat. In
of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale! In
breast the sea, Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee. Our
​hanging breathless on thy fate ! Sail on, O Un-ion, strong and great! Sail
what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope! Sail
spite of rock and tempest's roar,In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail
hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears. Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. Are
on, sail on, O Ship of State, Sail on, sail on!
on, sail on, O Ship of State, Sail on, sail on!
on, sail on, O Ship of State, Sail on, sail on!
all with thee, — Are all with State, Sail on, sail on!
# The Story Without an End (Austin, 1913)/Chapter 5

V.
In the hut he stayed not long, all was so gloomy, close, and silent within, and abroad everything seemed to smile, and to exult in the clear and unbounded space. Therefore the Child went out into the green wood, of which the dragon-fly had told him such pleasant stories. But he found everything far more beautiful and lovely even than she had described it; for all about, wherever he went, the ​tender moss pressed his little feet, and the delicate grass embraced his knees, and the flowers kissed his hands, and even the branches stroked his cheeks with a kind and refreshing touch, and the high trees threw their fragrant shade around him.
There was no end to his delight. The little birds warbled and sang, and fluttered and hopped about, and the delicate woodflowers gave out their beauty and their odours; and every sweet sound took a sweet odour by the hand, and thus walked through the open door of the Child’s heart, and held a joyous nuptial dance therein. But the nightingale and the lily of the ​valley led the dance, for the nightingale sang of nought but love, and the lily breathed of nought but innocence, and he was the bridegroom and she was the bride. And the nightingale was never weary of repeating the same thing a hundred times over, for the spring of love which gushed from his heart was ever new; and the lily bowed her head bashfully, that no one might see her glowing heart. And yet the one lived so solely and entirely in the other, that no one could see whether the notes of the nightingale were floating lilies, or the lilies visible notes, falling like dewdrops from the nightingale’s throat.
​The Child’s heart was full of joy even to the brim. He set himself down, and he almost thought he should like to take root there, and live for ever among the sweet plants and flowers, and so become a true sharer in all their gentle pleasures. For he felt a deep delight in the still, secluded, twilight existence of the mosses and small herbs, which felt not the storm, nor the frost, nor the scorching sunbeam; but dwelt quietly among their many friends and neighbours, feasting in peace and good fellowship on the dew and cool shadows which the mighty trees shed upon them. To them it was a high festival when a ​sunbeam chanced to visit their lowly home, whilst the tops of the lofty trees could find joy and beauty only in the purple rays of morning or evening.
# The Story Without an End (Austin, 1913)/Chapter 6

The Mouse and Lizard talk to the Child.
VI.
And as the Child sat there, a little mouse rustled from among the dry leaves of the former year, and a lizard half glided from a crevice in the rock, and both of them fixed their bright eyes upon the little stranger; and when they saw that he designed them no evil, they took courage and came nearer to him.
​“I should like to live with you,” said the Child to the two little creatures, in a soft subdued voice, that he might not frighten them. “Your chambers are so snug, so warm, and yet so shaded, and the flowers grow in at your windows, and the birds sing you their morning song, and call you to table and to bed with their clear warblings.”
“Yes,” said the mouse, “it would be all very well if all the plants bore nuts and mast, instead of those silly flowers; and if I were not obliged to grub underground in the spring, and gnaw the bitter roots, whilst they are dressing themselves in their fine ​flowers, and flaunting it to the world, as if they had endless stores of honey in their cellars.”
“Hold your tongue,” interrupted the lizard pertly; “do you think, because you are grey, that other people must throw away their handsome clothes, or let them lie in the dark wardrobe under ground, and wear nothing but grey too? I am not so envious. The flowers may dress themselves as they like for me; they pay for it out of their own pockets, and they feed bees and beetles from their cups; but what I want to know is, of what use are birds in the world? Such a fluttering and chattering, truly, from ​morning early to evening late, that one is worried and stunned to death, and there is never a day’s peace for them. And they do nothing; only snap up the flies and the spiders out of the mouths of such as I. For my part, I should be perfectly satisfied, provided all the birds in the world were flies and beetles.”
The Child changed colour, and his heart was sick and saddened when he heard their evil tongues. He could not imagine how anybody could speak ill of the beautiful flowers, or scoff at his beloved birds. He was waked out of a sweet dream, and the wood seemed to him lonely and desert, and ​he was ill at ease. He started up hastily, so that the mouse and the lizard shrank back alarmed, and did not look around them till they thought themselves safe out of the reach of the stranger with the large severe eyes.
# The Story Without an End (Austin, 1913)/Chapter 2

II.
But the Child was only sunk into a dream of delight, and was wishing he were a sunbeam or a moonbeam; and he would have been glad to hear more and more, and for ever. But at last, as all was still, he opened his eyes and looked around for his dear guest, but she was flown far away; so he could not bear to sit there any longer alone, and he rose and went to the gurgling brook. It gushed and ​rolled so merrily, and tumbled so wildly along as it hurried to throw itself head-over-heels into the river, just as if the great massy rock out of which it sprang were close behind it, and could only be escaped by a breakneck leap.
Then the Child began to talk to the little waves, and asked them whence they came. They would not stay to give him an answer, but danced away, one over another; till at last, that the sweet Child might not be grieved, a drop of water stopped behind a piece of rock. From her the Child heard strange histories, but he could not understand them all, for she told him
The Child talks to the Drops of Water.
​about her former life, and about the depths of the mountain.
“A long while ago,” said the drop of water, “I lived with my countless sisters in the great ocean, in peace and unity. We had all sorts of pastimes; sometimes we mounted up high into the air, and peeped at the stars; then we sank plump down deep below, and looked how the coral builders work till they are tired, that they may reach the light of day at last. But I was conceited, and thought myself much better than my sisters. And so one day, when the sun rose out of the sea, I clung fast to one of his hot beams, and thought that now I should reach ​the stars, and become one of them. But I had not ascended far, when the sunbeam shook me off, and, in spite of all I could say or do, let me fall into a dark cloud. And soon a flash of fire darted through the cloud, and now I thought I must surely die; but the whole cloud laid itself down softly upon the top of a mountain, and so I escaped with my fright and a black eye. Now I thought I should remain hidden, when, all on a sudden, I slipped over a round pebble, fell from one stone to another, down into the depths of the mountain, till at last it was pitch dark, and I could neither see nor hear anything. Then I found, ​indeed, that, ‘pride goeth before a fall,’ resigned myself to my fate, and, as I had already laid aside all my unhappy pride in the cloud, my portion was now the salt of humility; and after undergoing many purifications from the hidden virtues of metals and minerals, I was at length permitted to come up once more into the free, cheerful air, and now will I run back to my sisters, and there wait patiently till I am called to something better.”
But hardly had she done, when the root of a forget-me-not caught the drop of water by her hair and sucked her in, that she might become a ​floweret, and twinkle brightly as a blue star on the green firmament of earth.
# The Story Without an End (Austin, 1913)/Chapter 3

III.
The Child did not very well know what to think of all this; he went thoughtfully home and laid himself on his little bed, and all night long he was wandering about on the ocean, and among the stars, and over the dark mountain. But the moon loved to look on the slumbering Child as he lay with his little head softly pillowed on his right arm. She lingered a long time before his little window, and went slowly away to ​lighten the dark chamber of some sick person.
As the moon’s soft light lay on the Child’s eyelids, he fancied he sat in a golden boat on a great, great water; countless stars swam glittering on the dark mirror. He stretched out his hand to catch the nearest star, but it had vanished, and the water sprayed up against him. Then he saw clearly that these were not the real stars; he looked up to heaven, and wished he could fly thither.
But in the meantime the moon had wandered on her way; and now the Child was led in his dream into the clouds, and he thought he was sitting
The Child tries to catch the Star.
​on a white sheep, and he saw many lambs grazing around him. He tried to catch a little lamb to play with, but it was all mist and vapour; and the Child was sorrowful, and wished himself down again in his own meadow, where his own lamb was sporting gaily about.
Meanwhile the moon was gone to sleep behind the mountains, and all around was dark. Then the Child dreamt that he fell down into the dark, gloomy caverns of the mountain, and at that he was so frightened that he suddenly awoke, just as morning opened her clear eye over the nearest hill.
# The Story Without an End (Austin, 1913)/Chapter 14

XIV.
And the Child was become happy and joyful, and breathed freely again, and thought no more of returning to his hut, for he saw that nothing returned inwards, but rather that all strove outwards into the free air; the rosy apple blossoms from their narrow buds, and the gurgling notes from the narrow breast of the lark. The germs burst open the folding doors of the seeds, and broke through the heavy ​pressure of the earth in order to get at the light; the grasses tore asunder their bands, and their slender blades sprang upward. Even the rocks were become gentle, and allowed little mosses to peep out from their sides, as a sign that they would not remain impenetrably closed for ever. And the flowers sent out colour and fragrance into the whole world, for they kept not their best for themselves, but would imitate the sun and the stars, which poured their warmth and radiance over the spring. And many a little gnat and beetle burst the narrow cell in which it was enclosed, and crept out slowly, and, half asleep, unfolded and ​shook its tender wings, and soon gained strength, and flew off to untried delights. And as the butterflies came forth from their chrysalids in all their gaiety and splendour, so did every humbled and suppressed aspiration and hope free itself, and boldly launch into the open and flowing sea of spring.
HENRY STONE AND SON COLOUR PRINTERS BANBURY
# The Story Without an End (Austin, 1913)/Chapter 12

XII.
Softly and soundly he slept till the rosy morning clouds stood upon the mountain, and announced the coming of their lord, the sun. But as soon as the tidings spread over field and wood, the thousand-voiced echo awoke, and sleep was no more to be thought of. And soon did the royal sun himself arise; at first, his dazzling diadem alone appeared above the ​mountains; at length, he stood upon their summit in the full majesty of his beauty, in all the charms of eternal youth, bright and glorious, his kindly glance embracing every creature of earth, from the stately oak to the blade of grass bending under the foot of the wayfaring man.
Then arose from every breast, from every throat, the joyous song of praise; and it was as if the whole plain and wood were become a temple, whose roof was the heaven, whose altar the mountain, whose congregation all creatures, whose priest the sun.
But the Child walked forth and was glad, for the birds sang sweetly, and it ​seemed to him as if everything sported and danced out of mere joy to be alive. Here flew two finches through the thicket, and, twittering, pursued each other; there, the young buds burst asunder, and the tender leaves peeped out and expanded themselves in the warm sun, as if they would abide in his glance for ever; here, a dewdrop trembled, sparkling and twinkling on a blade of grass, and knew not that beneath him stood a little moss who was thirsting after him; there, troops of flies flew aloft, as if they would soar far over the wood; and so all was life and motion, and the Child’s heart joyed to see it.
​He sat down on a little smooth plot of turf, shaded by the branches of a nut-bush, and thought he should now sip the cup of his delight, drop by drop. And first he plucked down some brambles which threatened him with their prickles; then he bent aside some branches which concealed the view; then he removed the stones, so that he might stretch out his feet at full length on the soft turf; and when he had done all this, he bethought himself what was yet to do; and as he found nothing, he stood up to look for his acquaintance, the dragon-fly, and to beg her to guide him once more out of the wood into the open fields. ​About midway he met her, and she began to excuse herself for having fallen asleep in the night. The Child thought not of the past, were it even but a minute ago, so earnestly did he now wish to get out from among the thick and close trees; for his heart beat high, and he felt as if he should breathe freer in the open ground. The dragon-fly flew on before, and showed him the way as far as the outermost verge of the wood, whence the Child could espy his own little hut, and then flew away to her playfellows.