OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Pieces People Ask For/An Unknown Man, Respectably Dressed

"AN UNKNOWN MAN, RESPECTABLY DRESSED."
"An unknown man, respectably dressed,"
That was all that the record said:
Wondering pity might guess the rest;
One thing was sure,—the man was dead.   And dead, because he'd no heart to live;
His courage had faltered, and failed the test:
How little the all we now can give,—
A nameless sod to cover his breast!
"Respectably dressed!" The thoughtless read
The sentence over, and idly say,—
"What was it, then, since it was not need,
Which made him thus fling his life away?"
"Respectably dressed!" How little they know,
Who never have been for money pressed,
What it costs respectable poor to go,
Day after day, "respectably dressed!"
The beggars on sidewalks suffer less;
They herd all together, clan and clan;
Alike and equal in wretchedness,
No room for pride between man and man.
Nothing to lose by rags or by dirt,
More often something is gained instead;
Nothing to fear but bodily hurt,
Nothing to hope for save daily bread.
But respectable poor have all to lose;
For the world to know, means loss and shame;
They'd rather die, if they had to choose;
They cling as for life to place and name,—
Cling, and pretend, and conceal and hide;
Never an hour but its terror bears;
Terror which slinks like guilt to one side,
And often a guiltier countenance wears.
"Respectably dressed" to the last; ay, last!
Last dollar, last crust, last proud pulse-beat;
Starved body, starved soul, hope dead and past:
What wonder that any death looks sweet?
"An unknown man, respectably dressed,"
That was all that the record said.
When will the question let us rest,—
Is it fault of ours that the man was dead?
Helen Jackson.
# Pacchiarotto/Filippo Baldinucci on the Privilege of Burial

FILIPPO BALDINUCCI ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL.
A Reminiscence of a. d. 1676.
# Pacchiarotto/House

HOUSE.
# Pacchiarotto/Prologue

PROLOGUE.
# Pacchiarotto/Shop

SHOP.
# Pacchiarotto/Hervé Riel

This work was first published in Cornhill Magazine, March, 1871, xxiii. pp. 257-60, and subsequently reprinted in Appleton’s Journal, April 1871. [Based on Robert Browning: A Bibliography, 1830-1950 (1953) p.25, by Leslie Nathan Broughton, Clark Sutherland Northup and Robert Brainard Pearsall]
HERVE RIEL.
# Pacchiarotto/Numpholeptos

NUMPHOLEPTOS.
# Pacchiarotto/Of Pacchiarotto, and How He Worked in Distemper

OF PACCHIAROTTO, AND HOW HE WORKED IN DISTEMPER.
# Pacchiarotto/Pisgah-Sights

PISGAH-SIGHTS. 1
PISGAH-SIGHTS. 2.
# Pacchiarotto/Natural Magic

NATURAL MAGIC.
# Pacchiarotto/Magical Nature

MAGICAL NATURE.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Home of the Duellist

HOME OF THE DUELLIST.
The mother sat beside her fire,  Well trimm'd it was and bright, While loudly moan'd the forest-pines  Amid that wintry night.
She heard them not, those wind-swept pines,  For o'er a scroll she hung, That bore her husband's voice of love,  As when that love was young.
And thrice her son, beside her knee,  Besought her favouring eye, And thrice her lisping daughter spoke,  Before she made reply.
"O, little daughter, many a kiss  Lies in this treasured line; And, boy, a father's blessed prayers,  And counsels fond, are thine.
"Thou hast his high and arching brow,  Thou hast his eye of flame; And be the purpose of thy soul,  Thy sun-bright course, the same."
And, as she drew them to her arms,  Down her fair cheek would glide
A gushing tear like diamond spark,  A tear of love and pride.
She took her baby from its rest,  And laid it on her knee: "Thou ne'er hast seen thy sire," she said,  "But he'll be proud of thee:
"Yes, he'll be proud of thee, my dove,  The lily of our line, I know what eye of blue he loves,  And such an eye is thine."
"Where is my father gone, mamma?  Why does he stay so long?" "He's far away in Congress' Hall,  Amid the noble throng:
"He's in the lofty Congress' Hall,  To swell the high debate, And help to frame those equal laws  That make our land so great.
"But ere the earliest violets bloom  We in his arms shall be, So go to rest, my children dear,  And pray for him and me."
The snow-flakes rear'd their drifted mound  O'er hill and valley deep, But nought amid that peaceful home  Disturb'd the dews of sleep;
For lightly, like an angel's dream,  The trance of slumber fell, Where innocence and holy love  Maintain'd their guardian spell.
Another eve—another scroll.  Wist ye what words it said? Two words, two awful words it bore,  The duel! and the dead!
The duel? and the dead? How dim  Was that young mother's eye, How fearful was her lengthen'd swoon,  How wild her piercing cry.
There's many a wife whose bosom's lord  Is in his prime laid low, Ingulf'd beneath the wat'ry main,  Where bitter tempests blow;
Or crush'd amid the battle-field,  Where slaughter'd thousands rest; Yet know they of the speechless pang  That rives her bleeding breast?
Who lies so powerless on her couch,  Transfix'd by sorrow's sting? Her infant in its nurse's arms,  Like a forgotten thing.
A dark-hair'd boy is at her side
 He lifts his eagle-eye:
"Mother! they say my father's dead;  How did my father die?"
Again the spear-point in her breast!  Again that shriek of pain! "Child! thou hast riven thy mother's soul:  Speak not those words again."
"Speak not those words again, my son!"  What boots the fruitless care? They're written wheresoe'er she turns,  On ocean, earth, or air:
They're sear'd upon her shrinking heart,  That bursts beneath its doom: The duel! and the dead! they haunt  The threshold of her tomb.
Yes, through her brief and weary years  That broken heart she bore, And on her desolated cheek  The smile sat never more.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Last Words of an Indian Chief

LAST WORDS OF AN INDIAN CHIEF.
"He cometh! Death is here. Leave me alone! Hence! hence! Ye shall not see me when I die, If die I must. I would not that the men Whom I have led to battle saw me yield To any conqueror. Shall my warriors hear From this undaunted breast the gasp or groan As when a woman dies?  "How cold the dew Starts o'er my temples! Wipe it not away. Shame on your tears! Leave me alone with Death! For I will meet him as a brave man should, And hurl defiance at him.  "What is this? Ha! He hath smote the lion! Was it well To steal upon me in my unarm'd bed, Most potent enemy? How hast thou cut The nerve of that strong arm, which used to cleave The proudest foeman like the sapling spray! Oh friends! the dimness of the grave doth steal Over those eyes, that as the eagle dared The noontide sunbeam. Let me hear your voice Once more! once more!  "In vain! The ear is seal'd Which caught the rustle of the lightest leaf Where the close ambush lay. Come back! come back! Hear my last bidding, friends! Lay not my bones
Near any white man's bones. Let not his hand Touch my clay pillow, nor his hateful voice Sing burial hymns for me. Rather than dwell In Paradise with him, my soul would choose Eternal darkness and the undying worm. Ho! heed my words, or else my wandering shade Shall haunt ye with its curse!"  And so he died, That pagan chief; the last strong banner-staff Of the poor Senecas. No more the flash Of his wild eloquence shall fire their ranks To mortal combat. His distorted brow, And the stern grapple when he sank in death, Sadly they grave upon their orphan hearts, As to their rude homes in the forest glade Mournful they turn'd.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Gemini

GEMINI.
Twins of the heavenly house, how fair Your guerdons to our planet are!  Skies ye paint of richest blue, And where the daisy's eye is found Peeping from the moisten'd ground,  Ye lead those crystal waters through Which old Aquarius bound. The winged tenants of the grove Greet ye with a song of love,
As mid the green boughs, void of fear, Their chambers soft and warm they rear: Hovers round each blooming stalk  The bee, with nectar fill'd, And ants within the garden walk  Their cone-roof'd cities build.
Sounds from every rippling shore Speak the reign of winter o'er, Shouting boys, with mirthful note, Gayly launch the tiny boat, And the new-fledged ducklings play On their oary-footed way, And when Evening dims the lake, Frogs their hoarse orchestra wake, And the tortoise loves to tell, Peering from his mottled shell,
'Tween the water and the land, Tales his comrades understand.
Starry twins! your earliest ray  England's merry rustics hail, Round the Maypole circling gay  In the primrose-scented vale. Every cottage sends its pride, Youth, or maid, or recent bride,  To the thronging village plain, While the matron, mid her care, In her daughter's beauty rare,  Lives her triumphs o'er again. E'en that much-enduring race,* Who upon the darken'd face Bear the symbol of their state, Outcast and unfortunate, Seem to hope and freedom born On young May's propitious morn, And throughout the toil-worn year, Climbing high in chimney drear, Guard the memory, sadly gay, Of their lonely holyday.
Ancient Rome, with festive rite, Hailed ye, glittering twins of light, And the wreaths of Flora cast, Where your blended footsteps past. Classic Greece, with legends hoar, Link'd her lineage to your lore,
Pointing with her haughty hand To the Argonautic band, Who to win the fleece of gold Dared the seas with Jason bold.
But from your refulgent urn To a higher source we turn; To Him who, with a shepherd's care, Arcturus feeds in fields of air, Rules Orion's wrath, and sees The duly marshall'd Pleiades. Hath He not the zodiac's bound Traced these azure skies around? Bidding every season prove Changeless, unforgetful love, That by teachers so divine, Starry lessons, line on line, Man, the pupil of the sky,  Might be taught with praise to glow, And the love that lights his eye,  To his brother's heart to show?
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Good-night of the Birds

GOOD-NIGHT OF THE BIRDS.
It was a Sabbath evening  In spring's most glorious time, When tree, and shrub, and early flower  Were in their fragrant prime; And where the cloudless sun declined,  A glow of light serene, A blessing on the world he left,  Came floating o'er the scene.
Then from the verdant hedgerow  A gentle descant stole, And with its tide of melody  Dissolved the listening soul, The tenants of that leafy lodge,  Each in its downy nest, Pour'd forth a fond and sweet "good-night"  Before they sank to rest.
That tender parting carol!  How wild it was, and deep, And then, with soft, harmonious close,  It melted into sleep; Methought, in yonder land of praise,  Which faith delights to view, True-hearted, peaceful worshippers,  There might be room for you.
Ye give us many a lesson  Of music high and rare, Sweet teachers of the lays of heaven,  Say, will ye not be there? Ye have no sins, like ours, to purge  With penitential dew; Oh! in the clime of perfect love,  Is there no place for you?
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Heaven's Lesson

HEAVEN'S LESSON.
Heaven teacheth thee to mourn, O friend beloved; Thou art its pupil now. The lowest class, The first beginners in its school, may learn How to rejoice. The sycamore's broad leaf, Thrill'd by the breeze, the humblest grass-bird's nest, Murmur of gladness, and the wondering babe, Borne by its nurse out in the open fields, Knoweth that lesson. The wild mountain-stream That throws by fits its gushing music forth, The careless sparrow, happy, though the frosts Nip his light foot, have learn'd the simple lore How to rejoice. Mild Nature teacheth it To all her innocent works.  But God alone Instructeth how to mourn. He doth not trust This highest lesson to a voice or hand Subordinate. Behold! He cometh forth! O sweet disciple, bow thyself to learn The alphabet of tears. Receive the lore, Sharp though it be, to an unanswering breast, A will subdued. And may such wisdom spring From these rough rudiments, that thou shalt gain A class more noble, and, advancing, soar Where the sole lesson is a seraph's praise. Yea, be a docile scholar, and so rise Where mourning hath no place.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Hymn at Sea

HYMN AT SEA.
God of the ever-rolling deep,  Our Father and our trust, Who bidd'st its mighty billows sweep  Around the born of dust,
Who bidd'st it towering o'er them raise  Its everlasting walls, Yet giv'st them slumber calm and sweet,  As in their native halls,
God of the strong, unfathom'd tide,  Whose pavement dark and drear, The wrecks of human power and pride,  Awake our trembling fear,
O grant us, as the lonely dove  Unto the ark did flee, Mid the hoarse tumult of the waves  To rest secure in Thee.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Hymn in Sickness

HYMN IN SICKNESS.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Funeral of a Neighbour

FUNERAL OF A NEIGHBOUR.
Ah! can that funeral knell be thine,  Thou, at whose image kind So many long-remember'd scenes  Come rushing o'er my mind? Thy rural home behind the trees,  Thy bowers with roses dress'd, And the bright eye and beaming smile,  That cheer'd each entering guest.
There, when our children, hand in hand,  Pursued their earnest play, It drew our hearts more closely still,  To see their own so gay, And hear their merry laughter ring  Around the evening hearth, While the loud threat of winter's storm  Broke not their hour of mirth.
'Tis strange that I should seek in vain  That mansion, once so fair, And find the spot where erst it stood  All desolate and bare; Its smooth green bank, on which so thick  The dappled daisies grew— How passing strange, that from its place  Even that has vanish'd too.
But thou, whatever change or cloud  Deform'd this lower sky, Hadst still a fountain in thy heart  Whose streams were never dry; A fountain of perennial hope,  That never ceased to flow, And give its sky-fed crystals forth  To every child of wo.
Thy frequent visits to my couch,  If sickness paled my cheek, And all thy sympathetic love,  Which language cannot speak, How strong those recollections rise  To wake the grateful tear, For deeds like these more precious grow  With every waning year.
I cannot think that bitter grief  Would please thy happy soul, Raised as thou art to that bless'd world  Where tempests never roll; But may thy dearest and thy best,  The children of thy care, Walk steadfast in thy chosen path,  And joyful meet thee there.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Laura Bridgman

LAURA BRIDGMAN,
THE DEAF, DUMB, AND BLIND GIRL, AT THE INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND IN BOSTON.
Where is the light that to the eye  Heaven's holy message gave, Tinging the retina with rays  From sky, and earth, and wave?
Where is the sound that to the soul  Mysterious passage wrought, And strangely made the moving lip  A harp-string for the thought?
All fled! all lost! Not even the rose  An odour leaves behind, That, like a broken reed, might trace  The tablet of the mind.
That mind! It struggles with its fate,  The anxious conflict, see! As if through Bastile-bars it sought  Communion with the free.
Yet still its prison-robe it wears  Without a prisoner's pain, For happy childhood's beaming sun  Glows in each bounding vein.
And bless'd Philosophy is near,  In Christian armour bright, To scan the subtlest clew that leads  To intellectual light.
Say, lurks there not some ray of heaven  Amid thy bosom's night, Some echo from a better land,  To make the smile so bright?
The lonely lamp in Greenland cell,  Deep 'neath a world of snow, Doth cheer the loving household group  Though none beside may know;
And, sweet one, doth our Father's hand  Place in thy casket dim A radiant and peculiar lamp,  To guide thy steps to Him?
# Persian Literature/Volume 1/The Sháh Námeh/Death of Minúchihr

DEATH OF MINÚCHIHR
THE king had flourished one hundred and twenty years, when now the astrologers ascertained that the period of his departure from this life was at hand.
At the period Minúchihr uttered this exhortation, he was entirely free from indisposition, but he shortly afterwards closed his eyes in death.
# Persian Literature/Volume 1/The Sháh Námeh/Firdusi's Invocation

FIRDUSI'S INVOCATION
Thee I invoke, the Lord of Life and Light!  Beyond imagination pure and bright!  To thee, sufficing praise no tongue can give,  We are thy creatures, and in thee we live!  Thou art the summit, depth, the all in all,  Creator, Guardian of this earthly ball;  Whatever is, thou art--Protector, King,  From thee all goodness, truth, and mercy spring.  O pardon the misdeeds of him who now  Bends in thy presence with a suppliant brow.  Teach them to tread the path thy Prophet trod;  To wash his heart from sin, to know his God;  And gently lead him to that home of rest,  Where filled with holiest rapture dwell the blest.
 Saith not that book divine, from Heaven supplied,  "Mustafa is the true, the unerring guide,  The purest, greatest Prophet!" Next him came  Wise Abu Buker, of unblemished name;  Then Omer taught the faith, unknown to guile,  And made the world with vernal freshness smile;  Then Othmán brave th' imperial priesthood graced;  All, led by him, the Prophet's faith embraced.  The fourth was Alí; he, the spouse adored  Of Fatima, then spread the saving word.  Alí, of whom Mahommed spoke elate,  "I am the city of knowledge--he my gate."  Alí the blest. Whoever shall recline  A supplicant at his all-powerful shrine,  Enjoys both this life and the next; in this,  All earthly good, in that, eternal bliss!
 From records true my legends I rehearse,  And string the pearls of wisdom in my verse,  That in the glimmering days of life's decline,  Its fruits, in wealth and honor, may be mine.  My verse, a structure pointing to the skies;  Whose solid strength destroying time defies.  All praise the noble work, save only those  Of impious life, or base malignant foes;  All blest with learning read, and read again,  The sovereign smiles, and thus approves my strain:  "Richer by far, Firdusi, than a mine  Of precious gems, is this bright lay of thine."  Centuries may pass away, but still my page  Will be the boast of each succeeding age.
Praise, praise to Mahmud, who of like renown,  In battle or the banquet, fills the throne;  Lord of the realms of Chín and Hindústán,  Sovereign and Lord of Persia and Túrán,  With his loud voice he rends the flintiest ear;  On land a tiger fierce, untouched by fear,  And on the wave, he seems the crocodile  That prowls amidst the waters of the Nile.  Generous and brave, his equal is unknown;  In deeds of princely worth he stands alone.  The infant in the cradle lisps his name;  The world exults in Mahmud's spotless fame.  In festive hours Heaven smiles upon his truth;  In combat deadly as the dragon's tooth;  Bounteous in all things, his exhaustless hand  Diffuses blessings through the grateful land;  And, of the noblest thoughts and actions, lord;  The soul of Gabriel breathes in every word,  May Heaven with added glory crown his days;  Praise, praise to mighty Mahmud--everlasting praise!
# Persian Literature/Volume 1/The Sháh Námeh/Feridún

FERIDÚN
KANDRÚ, the keeper of the talisman, having effected his escape, fled to Zohák, to whom he gave intelligence of the release of his women, the destruction of the talisman, and the conquest of his empire.
The tyrant immediately turned towards his army, with the intention of making a strong effort to regain his throne, but ​he found that as soon as the soldiers and the people were made acquainted with the proceedings and success of Feridún, rebellion arose among them, and shuddering with horror at the cruelty exercised by him in providing food for the accursed serpents, they preferred embracing the cause of the new king. Zohák, seeing that he had lost the affections of the army, and that universal revolt was the consequence, adopted another course, and endeavored alone to be revenged upon his enemy. He proceeded on his journey, and arriving by night at the camp of Feridún, hoped to find him off his guard and put him to death. He ascended a high place, himself unobserved, from which he saw Feridún sitting engaged in soft dalliance with the lovely Shahrnáz. The fire of jealousy and revenge now consumed him more fiercely, and he was attempting to effect his purpose, when Feridún was roused by the noise, and starting up struck a furious blow with his cow-headed mace upon the temples of Zohák, which crushed the bone, and he was on the point of giving him another; but a supernatural voice whispered in his ear,
# Poems (1898)/Song : "Her Cheek is Like a Tinted Rose"

SONG
Her cheek is like a tinted rose That June hath fondly cherished, Her heart is like a star that glows When day hath darkling perished, Her voice is as a song-bird's sweet, The drowsy wolds awaking— But, ah, her love is past compare, And keeps my heart from breaking!
Lost sunbeams light her tresses free, Along their shadows gleaming, Her smiles entangle memory And set the soul a-dreaming, Her thoughts, like seraphs, upward soar, Earth's narrow bounds forsaking— But, ah, her love abides with me And keeps my heart from breaking!
# Poems (1898)/Song : "For Me the Jasmine Buds Unfold"

SONG
For me the jasmine buds unfold And silver daisies star the lea, The crocus hoards the sunset gold, And the wild rose breathes for me. I feel the sap through the bough returning, I share the skylark's transport fine, I know the fountain's wayward yearning, I love, and the world is mine!
I love, and thoughts that sometime grieved, Still well remembered, grieve not me; From all that darkened and deceived Upsoars my spirit free. For soft the hours repeat one story, Sings the sea one strain divine; My clouds arise all flushed with glory,— I love, and the world is mine!
# Poems (1898)/Song : "Friendship from its Moorings Strays"

SONG
Friendship from its moorings strays, Love binds fast together; Friendship is for balmy days, Love for stormy weather.
For itself the one contends, Fancied wrongs regretting— Love the thing it loves defends, All besides forgetting.
Friendship is the morning lark Toward the sunrise winging, Love the nightingale, at dark Most divinely singing!
# Poems (1898)/Probation

PROBATION
Full slow to part with her best gifts is Fate; The choicest fruitage comes not with the spring, But still for summer's mellowing touch must wait,— For storms and tears, which season'd excellence bring; And Love doth fix his joyfullest estate In hearts that have been hushed 'neath Sorrow's brooding wing.
Youth sues to Fame: coldly she answers, "Toil!" He sighs for Nature's treasures: with reserve Responds the goddess, "Woo them from the soil." Then fervently he cries, "Thee will I serve,— Thee only, blissful Love!" With proud recoil The heavenly boy replies, "To serve me well, deserve!"
# Poems (1898)/Siberia

SIBERIA
The night-wind drives across the leaden skies, And fans the brooding earth with icy wings; Against the coast loud-booming billows flings, And soughs through forest-deeps with moaning sighs. Above the gorge, where snow, deep fallen, lies— A softness lending e'en to savage things— Above the gelid source of mountain springs, A solitary eagle, circling, flies. O pathless woods, O isolating sea, O steppes interminable, hopeless, cold, O grievous distances, imagine ye, Imprisoned here, the human soul to hold? Free, in a dungeon,—as yon falcon free,— It soars beyond your ken, its loved ones to infold!
# Poems (1898)/Rejected

REJECTED
The World denies her prophets with rash breath, Makes rich her slaves, her flatterers adorns; To wisdom's lips she presses drowsy death, And on the brow Divine a crown of thorns. Yet blessèd, though neglected and despised— Who for the World himself hath sacrificed, Who hears unmoved her witless mockery, While to his spirit, slighted and misprized, Whisper the voices of Eternity!
# Poems (1898)/Rhapsody

RHAPSODY
As the mother-bird to the waiting nest, As the regnant moon to the sea, As joy to the heart that hath first been blest— So is my love to me!
Sweet as the song of the lark that soars From the net of the fowler free, Sweet as the morning that song adores— So is my love to me!
As the rose that blossoms in matchless grace Where the canker may not be, As the well that springs in a desert place— So is my love to me!