OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Hamatreya

HAMATREYA
Bulkeley, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint, Possessed the land which rendered to their toil Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool and wood. Each of these landlords walked amidst his farm, Saying, ''T is mine, my children's and my name's. How sweet the west wind sounds in my own trees! How graceful climb those shadows on my hill! I fancy these pure waters and the flags Know me, as does my dog: we sympathize; And, I affirm, my actions smack of the soil.'
Where are these men? Asleep beneath their grounds: And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough. Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs; Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet Clear of the grave. They added ridge to valley, brook to pond, And sighed for all that bounded their domain; 'This suits me for a pasture; that 's my park; We must have clay, lime, gravel, granite-ledge, And misty lowland, where to go for peat. The land is well,—lies fairly to the south. 'T is good, when you have crossed the sea and back, ​To find the sitfast acres where you left them.' Ah! the hot owner sees not Death, who adds Him to his land, a lump of mould the more. Hear what the Earth says:—
EARTH-SONG
'Mine and yours; Mine, not yours. Earth endures; Stars abide— Shine down in the old sea; Old are the shores; But where are old men? I who have seen much, Such have I never seen.
'The lawyer's deed Ran sure, In tail, To them, and to their heirs Who shall succeed, Without fail, Forevermore.
'Here is the land, Shaggy with wood, With its old valley, Mound and flood. But the heritors?— ​Fled like the flood's foam. The lawyer, and the laws, And the kingdom, Clean swept herefrom.
'They called me theirs, Who so controlled me; Yet every one Wished to stay, and is gone, How am I theirs, If they cannot hold me, But I hold them?'
When I heard the Earth-song I was no longer brave; My avarice cooled Like lust in the chill of the grave.
# Poems, by Robert Louis Stevenson, hitherto unpublished/To Priapus

TO PRIAPUS—(1884?)
In Martial's works (VI—16) this poem appears under the title "Ad Priapum." Priapus, as the deity symbolizing the fruitfulness of nature, was the recipient of the first fruits and the first flowers, and his image with the significance of regeneration often appeared on the tombs of the ancient world. To him, therefore, Martial addresses himself in this invocation on behalf of the dead.
The entire tenor of the verses, the desire that none but children shall enter the "green enclosure," would seem to indicate that this too was a poem for the beloved "Erotion;" and although Stevenson has lengthened the four lines of the Latin into six lines of English, and has taken the liberty in the fifth line of naming a definite age, he nevertheless preserves the spirit and the sentiment of the original.
TO PRIAPUS
Lo, in thy green enclosure here, Let not the ugly or the old appear, Divine Priapus; but with leaping tread The schoolboy, and the golden head Of the slim filly twelve years old— Let these to enter and to steal be bold!
# Poems, by Robert Louis Stevenson, hitherto unpublished/To A Youth

TO A YOUTH—1872
The "youth" to whom this poem was written, probably in 1872, was almost certainly Stevenson's cousin "Bob," who was later to become noted in fields of art and art criticism. Robert Louis and Robert Alan Stevenson had much in common, both in taste and temperament; and of his elder cousin, Stevenson, in a letter to Sidney Colvin, written in January 1874, said: "He has all the same elements of character that I have: no two people were ever more alike, only that the world has gone more unfortunately for him, although more evenly." The two cousins exchanged verses, counsels and encouragement; and the present poem shows the younger and more famous of the pair offering his friend a message of cheer, based on the philosophy of the all-sufficing value of courageous endeavor.
TO A YOUTH
See, with strong heart O youth, the change Of mood and season in thy breast. The intrepid soul that dares the wider range Shall find securer rest.
​The variable moods they breed Are but as April sun and shower, That only seem to hinder—truly speed Against the harvest hour.
Thy net in all rough waters cast, In all fair pasturelands rejoice, Thee shall such wealth of trials lead at last To thy true home of choice.
So shalt thou grow, O youth, at length Strong in endeavor, strong to bear As having all things borne, thy lease of strength Not perishable hair.
Not the frail tenement of health, The uneasy mail of stoic pride (A Nessus-shirt indeed!) the veer of wealth In strong continual tide.
Not these, but in the constant heart, That having all ways tried, at last Holds, stout and patient, to the eternal chart, Well tested in the past.
O, more than garlands for our heads, Than drum and trumpet sounding loud, ​As the long line of fluttering banners threads The many-coloured crowd;
That sense of progress won with ease, Of unconstrained advance in both, Of the full circle finished—such as trees Feel in their own free growth.
So shall thy life to plains below, O not unworthy of the crown! Equal and pure, by lives yet purer, flow Companionably down.
# Poems, by Robert Louis Stevenson, hitherto unpublished/We are as maidens, one and all

WE ARE AS MAIDENS ONE AND ALL—1871
When Stevenson, in later years, was going over his youthful manuscripts, copying many of them, unquestionably with the intention of having them sooner or later find their way into print, he annotated the present manuscript with the significant ejaculation, "pooh-pooh!" This trenchant criticism, presumably due to the effeminate note in the imagery of the verses, strongly inclined us at first to follow the author's lead, and omit the poem from the present volume. But on further consideration it was thought best to let the verses take their place with the other compositions of their period; for while some readers may marvel at lines where human beings, it would seem, are compared to convent maidens, and Stevenson himself to a bashful bride, the poem has many appealing qualities, both in its phraseology and in its thought.
Especially notable is the picture of Death, who, cantering on his "great gray horse," suggests the engravings of Dürer and other old masters. In referring to Death as "that ​splendid acred Lord," Stevenson has found an original description, whether we interpret the phrase as referring to cemeteries—or "God's acres," as they used to be called—or whether we think of Death as master of all the earth.
The concluding stanza in which Stevenson disavows fear of the kiss of Death is of special interest, since, from early childhood he was always consciously within its shadow.
DEATH
We are as maidens one and all, In some shut convent place, Pleased with the flowers, the service bells, The cloister's shady grace,
That whiles, with fearful, fluttering hearts, Look outward thro the grate And down the long white road, up which, Some morning, soon or late,
Shall canter ort his great grey horse That splendid acred Lord Who comes to lead us forth—his wife, But half with our accord.
​With fearful fluttered hearts we wait— We meet him, bathed in tears; We are so loath to leave behind Those tranquil convent years;
So loath to meet the pang, to take (On some poor chance of bliss) Life's labour on the windy sea For a bower as still as this.
Weeping we mount the crowded aisle, And weeping after us The bridesmaids follow—Come to me! I will not meet you thus,
Pale rider to the convent gate. Come, O rough bridegroom, Death, Where, bashful bride, I wait you, veiled, Flush-faced, with shaken breath;
I do not fear your kiss. I dream New days, secure from strife, And, bride-like, in the future hope— A quiet household life.
# Poems, by Robert Louis Stevenson, hitherto unpublished/Yes, I remember, etc.

YES, I REMEMBER, AND, STILL REMEMBER WAILING—1881
The comment at the bottom of the manuscript page—
Brown in his haste demanded this from me; I in my leisure made the present verse
would seem to establish the place, as well as the year of the composition of these verses, wherein the poet uses, for metrical experimentation, the memories of his first voyage to America. The discussions of John Addington Symonds, Horatio F. Brown and Stevenson—men interested in certain classical forms of verse—led Stevenson to various successful efforts in English Alcaics, a group of such poems being included in the two-volume Bibliophile edition of Stevenson's poems. With this group belong the present verses, written at Davos in 1881; and they are of special interest because the attempt in rhymeless verses in the first eleven lines is followed by a rhymed rendering of the same theme in the last eight lines.
We know of no other poem of Stevenson's, based on that adventurous sea trip when, after having left home without announcing his ​plans or bidding his friends farewell, the young author, ill and almost penniless, travelled on an emigrant ship toward a strange land where the woman he loved was awaiting him. It was in 1879 that Stevenson embarked; and the closing months of that year and the early months of 1880, constitute the period when his fortune was at its nadir, with sickness, and moments almost of starvation and despair, very nearly pulling him under. But even so, numerous poems of those days give evidence of that will and courage which he never quite lost, and in the present verses we find the poor emigrant raising his voice in songs of home. By the time—two years later—when he recorded in these experimental verses the memories of that difficult ocean voyage, home associations had been renewed, and he was again in Europe, with a wife who had at once won her way into the affections of his parents.
YES, I REMEMBER, AND STILL REMEMBER WAILING
Yes, I remember, and still remember wailing Wind in the clouds and rainy sea-horizon,
​Empty and lit with a low nocturnal glimmer; How in the strong, deep-plunging, transatlantic Emigrant ship we sang our songs in chorus. Piping, the gull flew by, the roaring billows Jammed and resounded round the mighty vessel; Infinite uproar, endless contradiction; Yet over all our chorus rose, reminding Wanderers here at sea of unforgotten Homes and the undying, old, memorial loves.
R. L. Stevenson, esq.
Here in the strong, deep-plunging transatlantic Emigrant ship the waves arose gigantic; Piping the gull flew by, the roaring billows Rose and appeared before the eye like pillows. Piping the gull flew by, the roaring waves Rose and appeared from subter-ocean caves, And as across the smoothing sea we roam, Still and anon we sang our songs of home.
Brown in his haste demanded this from me; I in my leisure made the present verse.
# Poems (Eddy)/The United States to Great Britain

Boston Herald, Sunday, May 15, 1898.
# Poems (Eddy)/To Etta

Lynn, Mass., December 8, 1866.
# Poems (Eddy)/To My Absent Brother

Lynn, Mass., November 8, 1866.
# Poems (Eddy)/The New Century

Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., January, 1901.
# Poems (Eddy)/To Ellen. "Sing Me That Song!"

Lynn, Mass., August 25, 1866.
# Poems (Eddy)/To the Old Year—1865

Lynn, Mass., January 1, 1866.
# Persian Letters/Letter 42
#### Letter 42

Pharan to Usbek, his Sovereign Lord
If you were here, magnificent lord, I would appear to you clad from head to foot in white paper; and even that would not be enough to contain a description of all the insults which your first black eunuch, the most malignant of men, has heaped upon me since your departure.
Under the pretext of some sarcasms which he pretends I aimed at his unfortunate lot, he makes me the victim of an insatiable vengeance.He has stirred up against me the cruel superintendent of your gardens, who, ever since you left, has laid upon me impossible tasks, in attempting which I have a thousand times taken leave of life, although I never for an instant lost my ardour in your service.Many a time have I said to myself, “I who have the gentlest of masters, am yet the most miserable slave on the face of the earth!”
I confess, most generous lord, that I did not believe myself destined to still greater miseries, but this felonious eunuch had yet to fill up some measure of his wickedness.Some days ago, on his unsupported authority, he destined me to the guardianship of your sacred wives; that is to say, to a punishment which to me would be a thousand times more cruel than death.Those, who, at their birth, have had the misfortune to undergo such treatment at the hands of their cruel parents, may perhaps comfort themselves with the thought that they have never known any other condition; but were I to lose my place among men, and be deprived of that which makes me human, I should die of grief, if I survived the barbarous knife.
I kiss your feet, sublime lord, in the deepest humility.Grant that I may feel the effects of your revered virtue.Let it not be said that, at your command, there is upon the earth one more unhappy being.
The Gardens of Fatme, the 7th of the moon of Maharram, 1713.
# Persian Letters/Letter 43
#### Letter 43

Usbek to Pharan, at the Gardens of Fatme
Rejoice in your heart, and acknowledge these sacred characters. Let the chief eunuch and the superintendent of my gardens kiss this letter. I prohibit them from attempting anything against you: tell them to purchase the eunuch they require. Do your duty, as if you had me always before you; for know, that my bounty is great, so, if you abuse it, will the measure of your punishment be.
Paris, the 25th of the moon of Rhegeb, 1713.
# Persian Letters/Letter 47
#### Letter 47

Zachi to Usbek, at Paris
I HAVE great news for you. Zephis and I are reconciled, and the seraglio, which had taken sides in our quarrel, is reunited. I need nothing now in this abode of peace but you. Come, my dear Usbek, come to me, and let love be triumphant.
I made a great feast in honour of Zephis, to which your mother, your wives, and your principal concubines were invited; your aunts and some of your female cousins also came; they arrived on horseback, covered by the dark cloud of their veils and garments.
Next day we set out for the country, where we hope to have greater liberty. We mounted our camels, four in each palanquin. As the party had been improvised, we had not time to send round the courouc, but the chief eunuch, always attentive, took another precaution: to the cloth which hid us from sight, he attached a curtain so thick, that we could positively see nobody.
When we reached that river which we have to cross, each of us went, in the usual way, into a box which was transported in the ferry boat; for we were told that there were a great many people on the river. One inquisitive person who approached too near the place where we were shut up, received a mortal blow, which cut him off for ever from the light of day; another, who was found bathing naked on the bank, met the same fate: those two wretches were sacrificed by your faithful eunuchs to your honour and to ours.
But listen to the rest of our adventures. When we had reached the middle of the river, so violent a wind arose, and such a dense cloud covered the sky, that our sailors began to lose hope. Terrified at the danger, we nearly all swooned away. I remember that I heard the voices of our eunuchs in dispute. Some of them said that, to save us from danger, we must be set at liberty; but their chief insisted, unfalteringly, that he would sooner die than permit his master to be so dishonoured, and that he would plunge a dagger into the breast of any one who should dare to make such proposals. One of my slaves, quite beside herself and all undressed, came running to my assistance; but a black eunuch seized her brutally, and thrust her back whence she had come. Then I swooned away, and returned to myself only after the danger was past.
How distressing journeys are for us poor women! Men are exposed only to those dangers which threaten their lives; but we are in constant terror of losing either life or virtue. Farewell, my dear Usbek, whom I shall always adore.
The Seraglio at Fatme, the 2nd of the moon of Rhamazan, 1713.
# Persian Letters/Letter 49
#### Letter 49

Rica to Usbek, at ***
As I was in my room the other day, there came to me a dervish amazingly dressed. His beard descended to his rope-girdle; his feet were naked; his gown grey, coarse and peaked in places. The whole appeared to me so odd that my first idea was to send for a painter to make a sketch of it.
First of all he paid me a prolonged compliment, in which he informed me that he was a man of merit, and a Capuchin to boot. “They tell me, sir,” continued he, “that you return soon to the court of Persia, where you hold high rank. I have come to ask your protection, and to beg you to obtain for us from the king a small establishment in the neighbourhood of Casbin for two or three friars.” “Father,” said I, “do you then wish to go to Persia?” “Me, sir,” cried he; “I shall take better care of myself. I am Provincial here, and I would not exchange my place for that of all the Capuchins in the world.” “Then why the devil do you make this request?” “Because, said he, “if we had this monastery, our Italian fathers would send out two or three friars.” “You know those friars, of course,” said I. “No, sir, I do not.” “’Sdeath!” cried I, “of what consequence is it to you that they should go to Persia then? A charming project, indeed, to send two Capuchins to take the air in Casbin! How useful that will be to Europe and to Asia! and how important it is to interest monarchs in it! So, this is what is meant by your admirable colonies! Begone; you and your fellows were not made to be transplanted; and you had best to continue to crawl about the places in which you were engendered.”
Paris, the 15th of the moon of Rhamazan, 1713.
# Persian Letters/Letter 41
#### Letter 41

The chief black Eunuch to Usbek
Ishmael, one of your black eunuchs, O magnificent master, has just died; and I tried to avoid any delay in filling up his place. As eunuchs are very scarce at present, I thought of making use of a black slave whom you have in country; but I have not yet succeeded in persuading him to undergo the sacrifice necessary for his consecration to that office. Knowing that this change would in the end work for his advantage, I wished the other day to employ towards him a little violence; and, in company with the superintendent of your gardens, I commanded that, in spite of himself, he should be put into a fit state to render you those services which most appeal to your heart, and to live with me in those sacred quarters, which, at present, he durst not even look at; but he fell a-roaring, as if we had wanted to flay him, and made such a to-do that he escaped from our hands, and so avoided the fatal knife. I have only now learned that he intends to write you begging for his mercy, and that he will urge in his defense that this design had been conceived by me, only in satisfaction of a relentless desire to be avenged for some cutting sarcasms which he says he vented against me. However, I swear to you by the hundred thousand prophets, that in this matter I have acted entirely for the benefit of your service, the only thing which is dear to me, beyond which I have not a single thought. I prostrate myself at your feet.
The Seraglio at Fatme, the 7th of the moon of Maharram, 1713.
# Persian Letters/Letter 44
#### Letter 44

Usbek to Rhedi, at Venice
There are in France three privileged classes: the church, the sword, and the gown.Each has such sovereign contempt for the other two, that sometimes a man who deserves to be looked down upon because he is a fool, is despised only because he is a lawyer.
All classes, including the meanest workmen, contend for the excellence of the craft they have chosen; each man exalts himself at the expense of some other of a different profession, according to the idea which he has formed of the superiority of his own.
They all resemble, more or less, a certain woman of the province of Erivan, who, having received some favor from one of our monarchs, wished a thousand times, in the blessings she showered upon him, that heaven would make him governor of Erivan.
I have read in a history, how some men belonging to the crew of a French vessel which had anchored off the coast of Guinea, went ashore in order to buy some sheep.They were led before the king, who was administering justice to his subjects under a tree.He sat upon his throne, that is to say, upon a block of wood, as proudly as if it had been the seat of the Great Mogul.His guard consisted of three or four men armed with armed with pointed staves; an umbrella served as canopy to protect him from the heat of the sun; for ornaments, he and his consort wore nothing but their own black skins and some rings.This prince, whose vanity was greater even than his poverty, asked the strangers if they talked much of him in France.He imagined that his fame must have gone forth to the ends of the earth, he for his part believed that he put the whole world chattering.
When the Khan of Tartary has eaten, a herald announces that all the princes of the earth may now go to dinner if they wish; that barbarian, whose food is milk, who has no house, and who lives only by brigandage, looks upon all the kings of the world as his slaves, and insults them regularly twice a day.
Paris, the 28th of the moon of Rhegeb, 1713.
# Persian Letters/Letter 40
#### Letter 40

Usbek to Ibben, at Smyrna
When a great man dies, people assemble in a mosque to hear his funeral oration pronounced- a discourse in his praise from which it would be very difficult to gather a true estimate of the deceased.
I would abolish all funeral pomp. Men should be bewailed at their birth and not their death. What good purpose do these ceremonies serve, with all the doleful shows that are paraded before a dying man in his last moments: the very tears of his family and the grief of his friends exaggerate for him the loss he is about to sustain.
We are so blind that we know neither when to mourn, nor when to rejoice; our mirth and our sadness are nearly always false.
When I see the Great Mogul foolishly place himself once a year in a balance to be weighed like an ox; when I see his people applaud the increase in weight of their prince, that is to say, the decrease in his capacity to govern them, my heart, Ibben, bleeds for the extravagance of humanity.
Paris, the 20th of the moon of Rhegeb, 1713.