OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Tacey v. Irwin/Opinion of the Court

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
United States Supreme Court
85 U.S. 549
Tacey v. Irwin
The case is not distinguishable in principle from that of Bennett v. Hunter. In that case it was insisted in support of the tax deed, that the right to pay the tax before sale was limited to the owner in person, and could not be exercised by the tenant in possession who had offered to pay it. This position was not sustained, but the court held that the payment of the tax which the act requires to be made by the owner, need not, necessarily, be made by him in person. It is enough, if it be made by any person for him, on the ground that an act done by one for the benefit of another is valid if ratified, either expressly or by implication, and that such ratification will be presumed in furtherance of justice.
It is difficult to see how, upon the case as found here, the sale can be sustained. The law does not require the doing of a nugatory act, as would have been a formal tender of payment, after the action of the commissioners, declining to receive the taxes from any person in behalf of the owner. Bennett v. Hunter decides that the owner has the right to pay, either in person or through any one not disavowed by him, who is willing to act for him. This right the commissioners, by the rule which they established and the uniform practice under it, effectually denied. The friends and agents of absent owners were informed that it was useless to interpose in their behalf, and that unless the owner appeared in person and discharged the tax, the property would be sold. This was equivalent to saying that a regular tender by any other person would be refused. While the law gave the owner the privilege of paying by the hands of another, the commissioners confined the privilege to a payment by the owner himself. This was wrong, and was a denial of the opportunity to pay accorded to the owner by the act, and the lands were, therefore, not delinquent when they were sold.
If an offer in a particular case to pay the tax before sale, to the admission or rejection because not made by the owner in person, renders a subsequent sale by the commissioners void, surely a general rule announced by the commissioners, that in all cases such an offer would be refused, must produce the same effect. Such a rule of necessity dispenses with a regular tender in any case. In the absence of any proof to the contrary, it is a legal presumption that the tax in this case, though not actually offered, would have been offered and paid before sale but for the known refusal of the commissioners to accept any offer when not made by the owner in person.
If so, the commissioners were not authorized to make the sale in controversy, and the judgment must be
AFFIRMED.

## Notes

* ↑ Bennett v. Hunter, supra.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Book of Scottish Song/Janet and Me

Janet and Me.
[Robert Gilfillan.]
O, wha are sae happy as me and my Janet? O, wha are sae happy as Janet and me We're baith turning auld, and our walth is soon tauld, But contentment ye'll find in our cottage sae wee. She spins the lang day when I'm out wi' the owsen, She croons i' the house while I sing at the plough; And aye her blythe smile welcomes me frae my toil, As up the lang glen I come wearied, I trow!
When I'm at a beuk she is mending the cleading, She's darning the stockings when I sole the shoon; Our cracks keep us cheery—we work till we're weary; And syne we sup sowans when ance we are done. She's baking a scone while I'm smoking my cutty, While I'm in the stable she's milking the kye; I envy not kings when the gloaming time brings The canty fireside to my Janet and I!
Aboon our auld heads we've a decent clay bigging, That keeps out the cauld when the simmers awa'; We've twa wabs o' linen, o' Janet's ain spinning, As thick as dog-lugs, and as white as the snaw! We've a kebbuck or twa, and some meal i' the gimel; Yon sow is our ain that plays grunt at the door; An' something, I've guess'd, 'sin yon auld painted kist, That Janet, fell bodie, 's laid up to the fore!
Nae doubt, we have haen our ain sorrows and troubles, Aften times pouches toom, and hearts fu' o' care; But still, wi' our crosses, our sorrows and losses, Contentment, be thankit, has aye been our share; I've an auld rusty sword, that was left by my father, Whilk ne'er shall be drawn till our king has a fae; We ha'e friends ane or twa, that aft gi'e us a ca', To laugh when we're happy, or grieve when we're wae. ​The laird may ha'e gowd mair than schoolmen can reckon, An' flunkies to watch ilka glance o' his e'e; His lady, aye braw, may sit in her ha', But are they mair happy than Janet and me? A' ye wha ne'er kent the straight road to be happy, Wha are nae content wi' the lot that ye dree, Come down to the dwellin' of whilk I've been telling, Ye'se learn it by looking at Janet an' me!
# The Book of Scottish Song/Jeanie's black e'e

Jeanie's black e'e.
[Macneil.—Tune, "Cauld frosty morning."]
The sun raise sae rosy, the grey hills adorning; Light sprang the laverock and mounted sae hie; When true to the tryst o' blythe May's dewie morning, My Jeanie cam' linking out owre the green lea. To mark her impatience, I crap 'mang the brakens: Aft, aft to the kent gate she turn'd her black e'e; Then lying down dowylie, sigh'd by the willow tree, "Ha me mohatel na dousku me."
Saft through the green birks I sta' to my jewel, Streik'd on spring's carpet aneath the saugh tree: Think na, dear lassie, thy Willie's been cruel,— "Ha me mohatel na dousku me." Wi' luve's warm sensations I've mark'd your impatience, Lang hid 'mang the brakens I watch'd your black e'e.—
You're no sleeping, pawkie Jean; open thae lovely een;— "Ha me mohatel na dousku me."
Bright is the whin's bloom ilk green knowe adorning, Sweet is the primrose bespangled wi' dew; Yonder comes Peggy to welcome May morning; Dark waves her haffet locks owre her white brow, O! light, light she's dancing keen on the smooth gowany green, Barefit and kilted half up to the knee;
While Jeanie is sleeping still, I'll rin and sport my fill,— "I was asleep, and ye've waken'd me!"
I'll rin and whirl her round; Jeanie is sleeping sound; Kiss her frae lug to lug; nae ane can see; Sweet, sweet's her hinny mou.—"Will, I'm no sleeping now; I was asleep, but ye've waken'd me." Laughing till like to drap, swith to my Jean I lap, Kiss'd her ripe roses, and blest her black e'e; And aye since, whane'er we meet, sing, for the sound is sweet, "Ha me mohatel na dousku me."
# The Book of Scottish Song/Jeanie Graham 2

Jeanie Graham.
[Wilson.—Tune, "Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doon."]
She whose lang loose unbraided hair Falls on a breast o' purest snaw, Was ance a maid as mild an' fair, As e'er wil'd stripling's heart awa'. But sorrow's shade has dimm'd her e'e, And gather'd round her happy hame, Yet wherefore sad? and where is he, The plighted love of Jeanie Graham?
The happy bridal day was near, And blythe young joy beam'd on her brow, But he is low she lov'd so dear, And she a virgin widow now. The night was mirk, the stream was high, And deep and darkly down it came; He sunk—and wild his drowning cry Rose in the blast to Jeanie Graham.
Bright beams the sun on Garnet hill, The stream is calm, the sky is clear; But Jeanie's lover's heart is still, Her anguish'd sobs he cannot hear. Oh! make his grave in yonder dell, Where willows wave above the stream, That every passing breeze may wail, For broken-hearted Jeanie Graham.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Jeanie Graham 1

Jeanie Graham.
[James Macdonald.—Here first printed.]
Oh! Jeanie Graham, oh! Jeanie Graham, thou'rt dearer far to me Than summer to a weary soul upon a wintry sea; Thy walk is like a silver clud abune the deep green hills, Thy voice is sweeter than the sang o' bonnie leesome rills, The melody o' life an' love dwalls in that heart o' thine; Oh! what a prince of joy were I, if, Jeanie, thou wert mine!
Oh! Jeanie Graham, thy very name is music to my ear, Thy lightsome step, thy merry laugh, thine e'e sae bright and clear,
As dew drops on the hawthorn tree, around my heart still hang, An', like the haly pillar cloud, they float where'er I gang: Oh! joy dwell in your bonnie briest wharever you may be! The very Kebla of my soul thou wert and art to me.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Jeannie's Bosom

Jeannie's Bosom.
[This is a brief but emphatic burst of enthusiasm from Burns regarding his "bonnie Jean." It appears in the Museum to an old air communicated by the poet.]
Louis, what reck I by thee, Or Geordie on his ocean?— Dyvour, beggar loons to me— I reign in Jeannie's bosom.
Let her crown my love her law, An' in her breast enthrone me: King and nations—swith, awa'! Relf randies, I disown ye!
# The Book of Scottish Song/Jessie o' the Dell

Jessie o' the Dell.
[Written by William Cameron. Music by Matthew Wilson.]
Oh! bright the beaming queen o' night Shines in yon flowery vale, And softly sheds her silver light O'er mountain-path and dale. Short is the way, when light's the heart, That's bound in love's soft spell; Sae I'll awa' to Armadale, To Jessie o' the Dell.
We've pu'ed the primrose on the braes, Beside my Jessie's cot; We've gather'd nuts, we've gather'd slaes, In that sweet rural spot. The wee short hours danced merrily, Like lambkins on the fell, As if they join'd in joy wi' me, And Jessie o' the Dell.
There's nane to me wi' her can vie, I'll love her till I dee, For she's sae sweet, and bonnie, aye, And kind as kind can be. This night in mutual kind embrace, O wha our joys can tell! Then I'll awa' to Armadale, To Jessie o' the Dell.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Jessie

Jessie.
[This exquisite little song was among the last Burns ever wrote. It was composed in honour of Jessie Lewars (now Mrs. Thomson of Dumfries,) the sister of a brother exciseman of the poet's, and one who has endeared her name to posterity by the affectionate solicitude with which she tended Burns during his last illness.]
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear— Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear; Thou art sweet as the smile when kind lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear, Jessie!
Although thou maun never be mine— Although even hope is denied— 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing Than aught in the world beside, Jessie!
I mourn through the gay gaudy day, As hopeless I muse on thy charms; But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, For then I am lock'd in thy arms, Jessie!
I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the love-rolling e'e; But why urge the tender confession, 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree, Jessie!
# The Arrow of Gold

A fictionalised account of Conrad's dabbling in gunrunning and political conspiracy. See Joseph Conrad on Wikipedia.
The ARROW of GOLD
A STORY BETWEEN TWO NOTES
BY
JOSEPH CONRAD
Celui qui n'a connu que des hommes polis et raisonnables, ou ne connait pas l'homme, ou ne le connait qu'a demi.
Charactères.
Garden City New York
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1920

### Chapter List

First Note
Part One
* Chapter I
* Chapter II
* Chapter III
Part Two
* Chapter I
* Chapter II
* Chapter III
* Chapter IV
Part Three
* Chapter I
* Chapter II
* Chapter III
* Chapter IV
Part Four
* Chapter I
* Chapter II
* Chapter III
* Chapter IV
* Chapter V
Part Five
* Chapter I
* Chapter II
* Chapter III
* Chapter IV
* Chapter V
* Chapter VI
* Chapter VII
* Chapter VIII
Second Note
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1924, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 99 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Arrow and the Song

* "The Arrow and the Song", in The Belfry of Bruges and Other Poems (1846)
* "The Arrow and the Song", in Poems That Every Child Should Know (1904), edited by Mary Elizabeth Burt
# Terminations (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1895)/The Coxon Fund

* Chapter 1
* Chapter 2
* Chapter 3
* Chapter 4
* Chapter 5
* Chapter 6
* Chapter 7
* Chapter 8
* Chapter 9
* Chapter 10
* Chapter 11
* Chapter 12
# The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge/Last Songs/The Rushes

THE RUSHES
The rushes nod by the river As the winds on the loud waves go, And the things they nod of are many, For it's many the secret they know.
And I think they are wise as the fairies Who lived ere the hills were high, They nod so grave by the river To everyone passing by.
If they would tell me their secrets I would go by a hidden way, To the rath when the moon retiring Dips dim horns into the gray.
​And a fairy-girl out of Leinster In a long dance I should meet, My heart to her heart beating, My feet in rhyme with her feet.
France, January 6th, 1917.
# The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge/Last Songs/To One Who Comes Now and Then

TO ONE WHO COMES NOW AND THEN
When you come in, it seems a brighter fire Crackles upon the hearth invitingly, The household routine which was wont to tire Grows full of novelty.
You sit upon our home-upholstered chair And talk of matters wonderful and strange, Of books, and travel, customs old which dare The gods of Time and Change.
Till we with inner word our care refute Laughing that this our bosoms yet assails, While there are maidens dancing to a flute In Andalusian vales.
​And sometimes from my shelf of poems you take And secret meanings to our hearts disclose, As when the winds of June the mid bush shake We see the hidden rose.
And when the shadows muster, and each tree A moment flutters, full of shutting wings, You take the fiddle and mysteriously Wake wonders on the strings.
And in my garden, grey with misty flowers, Low echoes fainter than a beetle's horn Fill all the corners with it, like sweet showers Of bells, in the owl's morn.
​Come often, friend, with welcome and surprise We'll greet you from the sea or from the town; Come when you like and from whatever skies Above you smile or frown.
Belgium, July 22nd, 1917.
# The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge/Last Songs/Una Bawn

UNA BAWN
Una Bawn, the days are long, And the seas I cross are wide, I must go when Ireland needs, And you must bide.
And should I not return to you When the sails are on the tide, 'Tis you will find the days so long, Una Bawn, and I must bide.
December 13th, 1916.
# The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge/Last Songs/The Little Children

THE LITTLE CHILDREN
Hunger points a bony finger To the workhouse on the hill, But the little children linger While there's flowers to gather still For my sunny window sill.
In my hands I take their faces, Smiling to my smiles they run. Would that I could take their places Where the murky bye-ways shun The benedictions of the sun.
How they laugh and sing returning Lightly on their secret way. ​While I listen in my yearning Their laughter fills the windy day With gladness, youth and May.
# The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge/Last Songs/Youth

YOUTH
She paved the way with perfume sweet Of flowers that moved like winds alight, And never weary grew my feet Wandering through the spring's delight.
She dropped her sweet fife to her lips And lured me with her melodies, To where the great big wandering ships Put out into the peaceful seas.
But when the year grew chill and brown, And all the wings of Summer flown, Within the tumult of a town She left me to grow old alone.
# The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge/Last Songs/To a Sparrow

TO A SPARROW
Because you have no fear to mingle Wings with those of greater part, So like me, with song I single Your sweet impudence of heart.
And when prouder feathers go where Summer holds her leafy show, You still come to us from nowhere Like grey leaves across the snow.
In back ways where odd and end go To your meals you drop down sure, Knowing every broken window Of the hospitable poor.
​There is no bird half so harmless, None so sweetly rude as you, None so common and so charmless, None of virtues nude as you.
But for all your faults I love you, For you linger with us still, Though the wintry winds reprove you And the snow is on the hill.
Londonderry, September 20th, 1916.
# The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge/Last Songs/With Flowers

WITH FLOWERS
These have more language than my song, Take them and let them speak for me. I whispered them a secret thing Down the green lanes of Allary.
You shall remember quiet ways Watching them fade, and quiet eyes, And two hearts given up to love, A foolish and an overwise.
France, April, 1917.
# The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge/Last Songs/The Sylph

THE SYLPH
I saw you and I named a flower That lights with blue a woodland space, I named a bird of the red hour And a hidden fairy place.
And then I saw you not, and knew Dead leaves were whirling down the mist, And something lost was crying through An evening of amethyst.
# The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge/Last Songs/To an Old Quill of Lord Dunsany's

TO AN OLD QUILL OF LORD DUNSANY'S
Before you leave my hands' abuses To lie where many odd things meet you, Neglected darkling of the Muses, I, the last of singers, greet you.
Snug in some white wing they found you, On the Common bleak and muddy, Noisy goslings gobbling round you In the pools of sunset, ruddy.
Have you sighed in wings untravelled For the heights where others view the Bluer widths of heaven, and marvelled At the utmost top of Beauty?
​No! it cannot be; the soul you Sigh with craves nor begs of us. From such heights a poet stole you From a wing of Pegasus.
You have been where gods were sleeping In the dawn of new creations, Ere they woke to woman's weeping At the broken thrones of nations.
You have seen this old world shattered By old gods it disappointed, Lying up in darkness, battered By wild comets, unanointed.
But for Beauty unmolested Have you still the sighing olden? I know mountains heather-crested, Waters white, and waters golden.
​There I'd keep you, in the lowly Beauty-haunts of bird and poet, Sailing in a wing, the holy Silences of lakes below it.
But I leave you by where no man Finds you, when I too be gone From the puddles on this common Over the dark Rubicon.
Londonderry, September 18th, 1916.
# The Book of Thel

A poem by William Blake
* Blake, William. The Book of Thel 1789. 8 plates, privately printed.
** The Book of Thel (Copy F), 1795. (Library of Congress, Rosenwald collection, Washington, D.C. USA)
** The Book of Thel (Copy J), 1789. (Houghton Library, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA, USA)
** The Book of Thel (Copy O), 1818. (Library of Congress, Rosenwald collection, Washington, D.C. USA)
** The Book of Thel (transcript), text of the work.
* The Book of Thel, Rossetti, D G, ed., Life of William Blake, 1880. Volume 2 (Selections) London: Macmillan and Co. p. 109-115
* The Book of Thel, Sampson, J., ed., Poetical works of William Blake, 1913. London: Oxford University Press. p. 247-253
References to The Book of Thel include:
# The Book of Thel (Copy J)

Copy J printed by Blake c. 1789. A copy held by the Houghton Library, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA, USA. Other versions: The Book of Thel
# The Book of Thel (Copy O)

Copy O, printed by Blake c. 1818. A copy held by the Library of Congress, Rosenwald collection, Washington, D.C. USA. Other versions: The Book of Thel
# The Book of Thel (Copy F)

Copy F printed by Blake in 1795. A copy held by the Library of Congress, Rosenwald collection, Washington, D.C. USA. Other versions: The Book of Thel
# The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/Vagrants

VAGRANTS
Long time ago, we two set out,  My soul and I.  I know not why, For all our way was dim with doubt.  I know not where  We two may fare: Though still with every changing weather, We wander, groping on together.
We do not love, we are not friends,  My soul and I.  He lives a lie; Untruth lines every way he wends.  A scoffer he  Who jeers at me: And so, my comrade and my brother, We wander on and hate each other.
Ay, there be taverns and to spare,  Beside the road;  But some strange goad Lets me not stop to taste their fare.  Knew I the goal  Toward which my soul And I made way, hope made life fragrant: But no. We wander, aimless, vagrant!
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/To the Memory of Mary Young

TO THE MEMORY OF MARY YOUNG
God has his plans, and what if we With our sight be too blind to see Their full fruition; cannot he, Who made it, solve the mystery? One whom we loved has fall'n asleep, Not died; although her calm be deep, Some new, unknown, and strange surprise In Heaven holds enrapt her eyes.
And can you blame her that her gaze Is turned away from earthly ways, When to her eyes God's light and love Have giv'n the view of things above? A gentle spirit sweetly good, The pearl of precious womanhood; Who heard the voice of duty clear, And found her mission soon and near.
She loved all nature, flowers fair, The warmth of sun, the kiss of air, The birds that filled the sky with song, The stream that laughed its way along. Her home to her was shrine and throne, But one love held her not alone; She sought out poverty and grief, Who touched her robe and found relief.
So sped she in her Master's work, Too busy and too brave to shirk, When through the silence, dusk and dim, God called her and she fled to him. We wonder at the early call, And tears of sorrow can but fall For her o'er whom we spread the pall; But faith, sweet faith, is over all.
The house is dust, the voice is dumb, But through undying years to come, The spark that glowed within her soul Shall light our footsteps to the goal. She went her way; but oh, she trod The path that led her straight to God. Such lives as this put death to scorn; They lose our day to find God's morn.
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/Vengeance Is Sweet

VENGEANCE IS SWEET
When I was young I longed for Love, And held his glory far above All other earthly things. I cried: "Come, Love, dear Love, with me abide;" And with my subtlest art I wooed, And eagerly the wight pursued. But Love was gay and Love was shy, He laughed at me and passed me by.
Well, I grew old and I grew gray, When Wealth came wending down my way. I took his golden hand with glee, And comrades from that day were we. Then Love came back with doleful face, And prayed that I would give him place. But, though his eyes with tears were dim, I turned my back and laughed at him.
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